


Love Stuck

by MiniInfinity



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Parents, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Multi, Pining, Romance, Single Parents, Slow Burn, kind of, there are mentions of death and i will warn you when
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 139,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniInfinity/pseuds/MiniInfinity
Summary: Despite never getting married or having been in a relationship, Wonwoo moves to the States and helps people write their wedding vows for a living. With everyone asking him when he will finally date someone, he takes a break and visits friends and family back at home. Out of all of his friends who offered to let him stay at their place, Wonwoo decides to stay with the only father among his friends, Mingyu, who Wonwoo helped write his wedding vows five years before his divorce.





	1. New York City

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be adding the tags as i go with this story. i don't know much about the actual business because there are few and one actually resides near my area, but i hope you get the idea?  
> i'm here on [tumblr](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com), [twitter](https://twitter.com/leescokmin), and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity) c:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter also has mentions of death in the beginning

When Wonwoo says he wants to be a writer, he pictures himself trading rough drafts off to his editor for another hour of rewriting another page, topping the best-selling books in the local newspaper--and if his luck plays him to the extreme, the nation. He wants to sit with his desk facing out the window of soulless cities as he paints the vicinity with his words, to write the story of the world without visiting every country. He wants to, someday, be able to write his stories based off of cities he sees with his own eyes. He knows he set his bars a little too high to reach, though, with dreams staying as they are and never fleshing out into the realities he always dreamed of.

He starts out in his university's online newspaper, sometimes exchanging his intern time to head to the city's newspaper because his professors urge him to. His hours behind the laptop as news coverage change like whiplash keeps him up at night and his roommate, Mingyu, worries about the bright pixel screen blinding the older at the lowest setting.

 

 

Spring time passes like the blossom petals brushing at his dorm window--slow, gentle, picks up speed when the wind wishes to. His articles churn out in set steps--write this hour, send to editor in another hour, post when the time comes. 

But the wind rushes at him today, to an accident just a couple of blocks from his university. A car ramming into another, sending both cars at the wall under an overpass. The two cars blocked the road and left one driver trying to speed pass the accident in hopes of dodging it, only to be part of it instead. In the middle of it all, the driver of the first car finds his phone and calls only one person: his wife.

Hours after the accident, hours after last words breathed through the married couple before realizing they were the last words, the phone company released the final messages in the phone call. Wonwoo is informed that the same last words were said years ago, the first words that were said when the two bloomed into the life of marriage.

Wonwoo takes hold of the wedding vows, wonders why someone would want to repeat words from years ago. He wonders how much power the words of promises hold.

 

A month later, his boss offers him a chance to interview the woman at the end of the phone that one morning, granted her permission to let Wonwoo enter her house. She invites him to his home and he takes a thermos of tea into his arms.

He asks, "Why the wedding vows?"

She answers that "it's better to think about good memories of the past than the dread of the future."

 

Wonwoo sits at his dorm, staring at the last words of the couple, the vows of staying together through the storm and staying in the center of it all.

For the rest of the year, Wonwoo writes about the couples repeating words from years ago, maybe decades before.

\----

Six years after he graduated university, Wonwoo finds himself sitting at Mingyu's bed in his shared apartment. He doesn't share the spaces with Wonwoo anymore; he actually shares his home with his girlfriend, Jihye. There's something warm and familiar about this room that he never stepped foot in--maybe it's the way Mingyu welcomes him in like he's part of his home, the same posters of blueprints from their dorm perpetually stuck above his one desk, the picture frames of Wonwoo and Mingyu's graduations on the walls, the scratched laptop perched on his cushioned chair no matter how many times Wonwoo warned him not to put it there.

There's something warm and familiar when Mingyu asks Wonwoo if he can read any new wedding vows he wrote. When Wonwoo passes his notebook over the mattress, Mingyu smiles all the same: soft and less lonely with the corners of his eyes tracing every letter down to memory. It's the same look that never falters when Wonwoo lets him read from his loosened notebook with frayed pages or dusty tablet, low-dimmed laptop screen or scraps of sticky notes he managed to scavenge in his pile of other scrap paper.

A long silence sits between them like homebody and Wonwoo almost asks what's wrong, if there's something bad about his vows compared to years ago. It's the first time that Mingyu lets an even longer silence lie between them after reading the vows Wonwoo wrote, and his mind tries to piece things together and pinpoint why. Wonwoo shifts over the covers to shuffle the mute, to have something heard between them, even if it isn't words. But the silence snaps at Mingyu's voice, low and hesitant, "Can you...can you help me write my wedding vows?"

Wonwoo blinks once, twice, three times, and a hand swipes at the air in front of him and another plants on his shoulder, pushes him backwards a slight. "Uh--"

"Wonwoo? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," he breathes and tries to remember when Mingyu ever mentioned about proposing. The room spins, but he swears it’s just his head, "I did. I can try."

Mingyu waves off his apprehension with a smile, "Why are you nervous? You wrote so many of them since that one article years ago. You're a natural at these."

Wonwoo says he guesses so, but he never mentions that this would be the first time he helps someone write wedding vows.

 

Months later, Wonwoo adjusts the silver tie on Mingyu's neck so he won't choke as a woman fixes stray strands with her comb. Mingyu stands tall in his dark blue suit jacket and pants. Wonwoo takes one scan down, ensures that not a single string pokes a millimeter out of Mingyu’s lean frame, and grins at the forgotten button at the bottom of his vest and pops it right through.

"Wonwoo," is faint, somewhat unsteady at two meager syllables, and he looks up to Mingyu biting his bottom lip. "What if I mess up? What if I stutter? What if she'll want a divorce when I forget the easiest words?"

Wonwoo scoffs, "If anything, I think she'll want to stay with you longer than forever if you show you're nervous."

Mingyu rolls his eyes. "I hate that you can put the right words together."

"You asked me to help you write your wedding vows. Words are my thing." Wonwoo drops his hands when he thinks the tie won't fly off the younger's neck at a bare whistle of a broken note. "Just recite it right here, right now. You don't have to memorize it, but it's good to be familiar with it."

"They say no one really cares about the wedding vows," Mingyu mutters, "but I want today to be special, not just for Jihye and me."

"Just recite it, Kim Mingyu."

\----

Two years later, Mingyu remains as the only one married in his group of friends, but he's not the only one who sought advice for writing wedding vows. Out of all of his friends, Soonyoung never asks him for help with wedding vows because "The wedding vows you write are so serious, I think they can be more lighthearted, even if you write them with all of your heart." Wonwoo strikes it as a challenge, but Soonyoung gives in and lets Wonwoo read his vows.

Soonyoung slumps into his seat at the kitchen table, a couple mugs of coffee nearing the edge of porcelain carnage. "Save me, I really do need help," Soonyoung sighs, dragging his hands over his face, "I can't-it's so cheesy in my mind."

"Tell me," Wonwoo grins. He taps the pen against the table at each syllable, "I'll make it cheesier."

"You're fired from helping me write my proposal," Soonyoung deadpans.

"I never asked for payment in the first place."

"Fine, that's true.” Soonyoung sits straight back up and plants his palms on the table, lets his thoughts spit a train. “Remember when everyone watched my performance three years ago, and everyone left when it was all over? Yeah, including you, Wonwoo. Well, Seokmin was the only one who stayed back and I was so happy that out of anyone who was left in the audience, it was him. It just-I felt that at that moment, it was him, you know?"

The last two words slash the entire memory as foreign because Wonwoo, in fact, does not know from personal experience. But he nods along, mutters something around the concept that he gets it. "So you want to mention that in your wedding vows? Is that the only thing you want to talk about?"

Soonyoung shrugs and slumps back into the backrest. His head leans back and he stares at the ceiling. "I don't know, there's just so much to say about Seokmin, I might as well start where it all started."

"That was so cheesy and typical." Wonwoo tosses his capped pen at Soonyoung, a scrape jabbing right at his jaw. "I love it."

Wonwoo grabs another pen and notes down _*make it super cheesy that everyone cringes*_ at the top of his notebook. Soonyoung's eyes glance down and he almost grabs for the notebook. "I want to get rid of this cheesiness, okay? Please, Wonwoo, I loved Mingyu's vows so much, but I don't want to take his. I _can't_."

Wonwoo blinks up. "You-you did?"

Soonyoung nods and folds his hands over Wonwoo's fingers gripping the pen tight. "I really do. The next day, I asked if he wrote those vows himself and he said that you helped him out a lot. You can really write."

\----

Even though the sign hanging on his window says he opens at eleven in the morning, he walks into his dark office at nine, flips the light switch on, and settles at the wooden desk in the middle of the floor. He scoots the two arm chairs together and tries to backtrack what happened at the last session that brought them almost at the ends of the table. He glances at the towering bookshelf at his right and the waterfall of pictures thumb-tacked, taped, framed at his left. His laptop and planner in one hand and a thick envelope in another, he places everything down on his desk and turns to the wall of snapshot memories.

He slips every glossy print out of the white envelope, watches the lives of two people tie at each shot. After at least a dozen pictures of couples he helped write wedding vows and proposals for, the next stack of newly prints traveled all the way from home, of his friends and family, of his friends' family. He tapes a shot of Paris at night, dated and signed by Minghao at the bottom corner. Another picture from the same night holds Junhui at the heart of the Eiffel Tower’s view, above the city of love. Thumb-tacks a portrait of Jihoon meeting his favorite artist at a concert a month ago. His thumb runs over clear tape at the corners multiple times as he straightens a picture of Mingyu with his daughter, Seoyeon, sitting at his lap and the father-daughter pair smiling up at the camera. Her long pigtails disappear behind her and her skintone is starting to match her father's. She inherits her father's glints at his eyes and there are a couple gaps at her bottom teeth. He frames his brother's graduation picture with a bouquet of blue flowers and places it on his desk, right under the lamp.

He wishes the life at home comes here to his new home, but he knows that they're across the globe, everyone is too far out of reach, and home is truly too far away.

He grabs the sign from the window, a faux-cursive announcing in a pale blue, _Having trouble with wedding vows? Inquire inside! Drop-ins & appointments welcome_ with Wonwoo's name and contact information right under. He dusts it off with the back of his hand and figures it's been a while since he blew the age off the board.

His first client today is a drop-in from last week, who paid for another three sessions in the first one to make sure that she would have more than enough time to revise the vows before her wedding. The calendar circles the date three months away, but she insists that it's good to get it done early and with no rush.

Wonwoo nods at that remark, mentions that most of his clients ask for his assistance a week or two before their weddings. Her laugh tips her head back, and Wonwoo thinks her vows can actually stand on their own as herself.

Her name is Rose and she suggests that her wedding will not have the actual flowers in it, sticking to carnations or something less traditional and formal. She met her husband during her senior year of high school and when he asked her to prom, she said no and turned around to leave. But years later, once they reconciled and stayed, when he asked her to marry him, she said yes and let him slip a ring on her finger.

She sits down at the table, denim knee scraping Wonwoo's in the process. She tells him that she wants to include that anecdote about senior prom in her wedding vows, but she doesn't know how to do so. She doesn't want to be blunt about it, but she also doesn't want to purple-prose the entire thing.

Wonwoo nods, stands up, and grabs two cups of green tea from the fridge at the other side of his office. He places them down, perks his ears at a curt thank you, and picks up a pen.

\----

It's been a while since the thought of his very first client ever crossed his mind before switching on the open sign. His coworkers at the dress and suit departments never bring it up, but he always does--at least, to himself.

His very first client when he started the business nearly discouraged him into quitting, the harsh, "How did you write these words without even knowing what love is?"

He remembers the man's blue eyes rolling, the screech of the chair as the man stood up, frills of white notecards and sheets of paper swinging into the air before floating down to the floor, and slammed the door. Wonwoo picked up the scattered papers and read the wedding vows he posted online, the ones he did for fun and without anyone to write it to or for. Some words were circled and other phrases asterisked, dotted with comments of _good metaphor_ , _nice details_ , _how did he come up with this imagery?_

He remembers walking out of his office and a coworker stopped in the middle of her path with wide eyes, pointing a shy finger at the man stomping out. Wonwoo shook his head, went up the flight of stairs and to the dresses.

Today, Wonwoo goes up to the dresses because his break seems to stretch longer than usual. He takes the left flight of white marble stairs and walls racked with white dresses never touching the floor greet him, bright lights sending him to blink hard.

He walks around, notices a woman twirling in one of the dresses with tears in her eyes. Wonwoo takes silent steps up behind the couch with a couple sets of shoulders yearning side-by-side. He crosses his hands behind his back, smiles at the mirror reflecting the bride-to-be.

"I love it," he hears her say, shaking and cracked, before smiling wider, "so, so much."

His eyes land on another bride-to-be but she grasps juxtapositions of a smile. As she flattens the train on her side, heavy exhales seep into her chest that weigh like a burden. Wonwoo looks at the couch behind her, finds no one there except for Sam with the same wide eyes as years ago. He slips into the seat besides her, only offers a small flat-smile as he glances at the back of the dress closed by clips.

"It's not my size, oh my," stings at his ears. "I'm going to rip the dress I can't afford to like."

Before Sam plants a hand on the couch, Wonwoo gets up. "They can make alterations to it," Wonwoo says, taking her hands in his after asking if it's okay to hold her hands. "If this is the dress, then this is the dress."

"I have never seen you before," she giggles, letting his hand go to wipe the tears from the corner of her eyes. He explains, smile mirroring hers better than the mirror itself, that he actually helps write wedding vows on the first floor. "Oh, you must be very romantic, then," she squeezes his hands, "your wife must be very happy to have a sweet husband."

Wonwoo shakes his head and almost corrects her that he does not have a wife, nor a girlfriend. But he lets it go, steals a glimpse of Sam's mouth hang open at the couch. He excuses himself that he is actually on break and it's nearing time for his next appointment. The woman thanks Wonwoo before he leaves down.

\----

Wonwoo's hand barely grazes for the door when he flinches at his boss' voice behind him. "Wonwoo," after troubled steps on marble, white dress shirt rolled up to view more wrinkle on the back of his hand, "would you like to take your break with me? Let's go out somewhere."

 

 

He seats himself in an Italian restaurant tucked somewhere between buildings he didn't know existed until his boss dragged him out here. He places the tablecloth across his lap and asks for a cup of water before his boss requests to make it two.

"How has writing been lately?" his boss asks between spoons of gnocchi soup.

Wonwoo sighs and keeps his palms on his knees instead of on the table. "September hits me hard every year and this year is the same, but I'm enjoying it."

"Oh, that's good to hear," his boss nods, but his voice lays flat and never matches the sentiment, "because I've been told by a few customers that they feel weird knowing that the person helping them write their vows has never been married himself. Some of them even say that you've never been in love." Wonwoo shrugs, twists the tablecloth at his thighs. "I think it's time to start looking for someone."

"Why?" is a little loud over the silverware, too harsh for the muffled chatter. He lowers his voice so that only his boss, his ears, and the plates and food in between can hear. "Do I have to be married to work like this? It's not like the people coming in are married themselves."

His boss nods once, "You don't have to," after a heavy pause, "but maybe your vows will be more genuine if you have something you can base them on."

\----

The next day, Wonwoo considers about calling in sick for the day, since his only appointments are all through emails, but he thinks he should extend the request for a vacation. Winter months don't offer a lot of wedding vows for him to assist and get into paper and he would rather spend his time with the people he miss, rather than lying at his apartment.

He tells this to his boss that day, that December and January are his drought months of wedding vows, the slowest of the year, and he's lucky if he gets a handful of emails with a single drafted fragment to start wedding vows instead of booking appointments for the following few months after the season drifts. His boss agrees and hopes that he meets someone there.

"I can't guarantee that, but I'd be happy to bring back some souvenirs," Wonwoo scoffs.

 

 

When he gets home, changes out of his beige trench coat and jeans and squints his glasses off. He walks up the short flight of stairs to his loft bed at the corner and falls back in the middle of the mattress. He picks up his phone and sends a quick message in the group chat that he would be visiting sometime in the winter. Between finalizing the dates he would be gone and checking in on the time in Korea, he accepts a request for an over-the-phone appointment that is originally scheduled for tomorrow. He flips through his planner shut and replaces the book with a fresh section of his notebook for the new client.

In the middle of the call, right when Jackson is about to delve into his shyness towards his wife, at the fact that he had to borrow his cousin to give her chocolates, his phone vibrates across the bedside table. It shocks a "Oh, what was that?" from Jackson and Wonwoo apologizes that his phone just got a message. He dives back intothe story after chuckling from his own reaction. After another vibration, Wonwoo cuts off the internet from his phone and abandons his friends talk to each other without him.

When he finishes with the client two hours later, he scrolls through the messages and picks at the pattern of subjects. From souvenirs and gifts from America, Junhui's request for American beer. To who Wonwoo will stay with because booking a hotel for a month is useless and pricey, with Jihoon's offer for a room as long as he doesn't bother him. To the possibility that this is all a joke because Soonyoung suggests that since _Wonwoo isn't talking anymore it's just us planning his vacation for him_. He laughs at the screen and the pixel jokes and types that he just finished with a client.

The most recent message in the chat belongs to Mingyu, almost an hour after the proposition that Wonwoo isn't coming to visit after all.

_22:06_

**_Mingyu_ **

_My home is always open as long as you don't mind a little one running around_

The first message from Mingyu erupts a string of others.

**_Minghao_ **

_I don’t have a baby_

**_Jihoon_ **

_Neither do I._

**_Soonyoung_ **

_Same, so if you go with me, you don’t have to worry about a little one!!_

It's a great idea, Wonwoo believes at first. Except he concludes he can't go with Soonyoung because Soonyoung rarely sleeps and the duo would probably find unhealthy eating habits in less than a night. He doesn't exactly want to stay with Jihoon because he doesn't sleep, either, and Wonwoo doesn't want to run the risk bothering him. He and Junhui get along, but he predicts things to turn out awkward with his boyfriend, Minghao, living with him.

With Mingyu, though he shares his roof with his daughter, Wonwoo thinks he won't mind. He remembers back in their university years when he shared a dorm with Mingyu for the entire three years they were on campus together and notes how organized his side of the dorm was, how Mingyu got up at the sound of the alarm, the quaking of the mattress when Wonwoo didn't follow suit.

_23:23_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Is that offer still open?_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Of course_

_Always_

_Are you sure??_

_Because my daughter is loud sometimes and you might get annoyed_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_I don’t mind_

_I think her energy will help me after living alone for a while_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Okay! I’ll start getting things ready_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Me too_

_What’s she into? I want to get her a gift_

**_Mingyu_ **

_I actually don’t buy her toys_

_But she likes books lately_

_Right now she likes disney princesses, so i guess that would be good_

_Wait_

_But you don’t really have to_

_She has plenty of books here_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Too late_

_And it’s fine, I’m getting something for everyone, anyway_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Are you sure?_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Yes, I’m sure. Since you’re the only one with a child, I’m going to spoil her :)_

_Seoyeon_

_Kim Seoyeon_

_My favorite niece_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Your only niece_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Shut up_

**_Mingyu_ **

_You know i’m right_

_Now get some sleep_

\----

New York City in the junction of fall and winter transcends slowly at his eyes; the world is just too fast to realize the differences between seasons until a snowflake hits the tip of his nose. He sets up a deadline for drop-ins and appointments, highlights the dead middle of December on his planner and calendars as the last day he'll be seeing and responding to people before he starts gift-shopping and packing for his vacation. The schedule on his website says he would be back at the first week of February, leaving some time after in case he runs severe jet lag at his veins and brains.

He stops his organizing to get ready for his first client of the day and he relaxes in his seat when he notices the same surname on the schedule as is own. There's a knock at his door and he gets up, greets the man hunching over before he fully opens the door. He greets a shy hello, and "Sorry for being a little early." Wonwoo shakes his head and tells the man to sit down, get comfortable.

The man's name is Jeon Sunghoon and he slips a moleskine notebook on Wonwoo's desk, never puts his entire voice into vocalizing his wish to make his messages flow more clear, more smooth in a language he's still dipping his toes into. "I feel like all of my words are a little-how do you say it? Cliche? And I really don't want that." The man rubs his eyes and he notices the pinks at his knuckles.

Wonwoo points at the notebook and asks, "Can I?" Sunghoon nods, hands him the notebook. A smile perches on Wonwoo's lips for the Korean at the previous pages, crossed out and streaming in imagery and details far more complicated than the vows drafted in English. "Are you trying to translate them from Korean?"

"Oh, you know Korean?" Sunghoon asks, eyes widening.

Wonwoo plucks a business card from his table and realizes then that he really needs to refill the stack sometime soon. The slip he picks up is almost at the end of the pile, close to reaching the display stand part instead of the actual cards. He runs his thumb under the _Jeon_ of his name. "I don't know if you realized this when you made an appointment, but we have the same last name."

Sunghoon sighs in relief, hand at his chest. "How did I not notice it before?" His voice lowers when he switches languages, "I was probably too nervous about the appointment to notice it." He takes the notebook from Wonwoo's hand and flips it to a different page near the start of the book. "I've been trying to translate this to English because all of our guests are good in English, but I'm still nervous that my words won't match the original thoughts. Like it's lost in translation."

Wonwoo smiles at the man's ease with opening up to him in a split second. "Just a second," he excuses himself, standing up and walking over to the fridge. He pulls out plastic containers of rice, meat, side dishes, and unwraps them to microwave. "I spend around two hours with a client. Did you eat before coming? Usually, people are too nervous to eat. Or they eat too much."

Sunghoon shakes his head, jaws slacking open. "I didn't eat before this. I thought it would take around thirty minutes."

Wonwoo smiles again and offers a bowl of rice before placing the rest on the table around notebooks and pens. "Eat some while we write." When Sunghoon parts his lips to decline, "Don't worry about paying for the food. I was hoping I wouldn't have a lonely lunch today."

\----

December throws Wonwoo under a few appointments and after that, he sticks a sign that he will no longer be accepting appointments, just drop-ins until a few days before his flight. He posts the announcement on his website, on his window, at his desk that he apologizes for any inconveniences this may cause, but leaves no hints about his desires to escape the walls of his office, the desolate stares of his boss when Wonwoo dismisses any suggestions of dating and marriage. Appointments dwindle down like sunlight through winter skyscrapers and drop-ins start to invade sign-in sheets like snowstorms streets. He doesn't mind; he knows that he has to limit the number of clients he can see while he gets ready for vacation, but he feels bad cutting everyone off completely.

After closing up his shop around twenty minutes earlier than usual hours, he maps himself out to the mall. Everyone bustles out with shopping lists at their tight grips, bags swinging at their sides, chatter of how expensive this gift is but "it's for my husband, so it's okay."

Wonwoo nearly trips as he squeezes through people half his size to slip through the Disney store and find something related to the princesses. Except Wonwoo forgot to ask which Disney princess is Seoyeon's favorite, so he resorts to getting something with every princess on it.

When Wonwoo steps up to the register with a basket of Disney princesses book-set, three coloring books, and a pink tin box of fifty colored pencils, an endearing smile falls for Wonwoo after eyes fall on the items at the counter.

"Are these for your daughter?" the cashier asks, scanning the barcodes. With her curly hair rippling over her shoulders and a couple droplets of pink at her cheeks, Wonwoo thinks she's well into college and he could have asked her for advice about what to get for Seoyeon if he bumped into her at the middle of the store, rather than at the register.

Wonwoo shakes his head and it takes him a while too long to get the right word out. "These are for my niece I'm visiting," he says flatly.

The cashier bubbles out an airy, “Ooh,” and after paying with his card, she offers to wrap the presents for free because Wonwoo is probably the best uncle she's seen during her recent shifts.

 

 

Buying Christmas presents for everyone else includes less overthinking and more overspending. Beats headphones for Jihoon, champagne bottle of M&M's and a new pair of Converse for Soonyoung, a better lens for Minghao's scratched camera, and more Polaroid films for Junhui. 

Wonwoo deflates at the thought of Mingyu's gift. He doesn't know what to buy; he's pretty sure Mingyu has enough notebooks to design the next buildings in Seoul for the century and he has enough pairs of shoes to last him until Seoyeon's high school graduation. So he buys Mingyu a leather jacket because why not? He throws in a sketchbook, anyway, and makes note that he reserves this for his work.

\----

A week before he's set for the sky, Wonwoo shoots a message to Mingyu to make sure that he's still okay with letting Wonwoo stay at his apartment.

Barely a minute ticks at the clock between the question and Mingyu's _Always._

\----

Wonwoo takes in seven drop-ins at his office and he offers to keep his last client long after he turned off his open sign. He declines the extra pay that the client coaxes for him to take, to make the time with him worthwhile.

"Sorry again for keeping you in," he slurs. Gabriel clutches the papers tight in his hands, sets wrinkles deep into the pages.

Wonwoo shrugs with a lopsided smile. "We're not leaving until you're satisfied of our progress, okay? Don't feel bad, we're both staying, anyway." His last words send a laugh between the two and they pick up the pens again. Wonwoo lifts his clipboard back on his lap and Gabriel flips through the pieces one more time.

"So we're getting married in two months," he starts again.

"Yeah, I remember that part."

"And I started dating him five years ago." Wonwoo mouths out a _Wow_ through a couple of hard blinks and it sends another laugh through Gabriel's lips and into his office. "Yeah, you can say he's stuck with me."

"After a couple of months, he'll be stuck with you for the rest of your life."

"And I'll love every single moment."

\----

Gabriel remains as his very last client before Wonwoo posts up a sign that he'll be gone during the entire month of January, stacked with quick steals of the last few days of December and first few of February. He puts up the sign at his window that says everything he needs to say. He writes a final message, _Stay warm during these cold winters!_

On his last day in his office before the New Year, he tells everyone that he hopes the flu won't chase after any of them and that they stay healthy and safe. He reminds his boss that he will bring souvenirs for everyone and pushes any other words back in his throat, never lets himself correct to "almost everyone" when his boss tells him to bring back a girlfriend.

He rolls his eyes, pretends that the smirk on his lips isn't shaking. "I'll try my best."

\----

Wonwoo waves for a taxi to the airport. He drops his luggage in the backseat and cradles his backpack between his legs at the passenger's seat. When he asks for the airport, the driver eases into light conversation.

"Where are you heading to?"

"Seoul. I'm visiting friends and family."

"Been a long time since you were last there?" Wonwoo nods, stares at the white lights and dark blues of New York City blurring out his window. "How long?"

"Maybe seven years?" Wonwoo shrugs. "It's been too long."

This time, the driver nods, pokes his thoughts about how it's nice to go back home after a few years. "Reuniting with your lover, perhaps?" Wonwoo shakes his head, denies having a lover. The driver tsks at that, "What a shame for a handsome man like you."

After Wonwoo pays for his fare and tips extra for dealing with a seat-shifting, lip-biting silence and a never-ending staring contest out the window, the driver wishes Wonwoo a happy trip.

 

 

Two hours after he checks in, he sits in front of boarding and opens his phone, only to discover six emails asking about revising wedding vows. Half of them include a separate text document and Wonwoo sighs. 

Once the plane takes flight and the wifi symbol on his laptop flashes once and settles to white, he replies to every email, tries to ignore the wandering eyes of the passenger right beside him. He bought a window seat in hopes that only the eyes of the moon would read these wedding vows, but maybe he should have bought a better seat.


	2. Seoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are mentions of divorce here; it's not a topic that most stories put warnings for, but still

_15:44_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Just landed_

 

After grabbing his luggage and learning to trust his instincts to arrivals, Wonwoo hopes that there will only be a couple of his friends at the airport waiting for him, just a simple hug exchanged before heading for the car to wherever he'll be staying. Stealing attention away from other passengers coming to visit their loved ones or explore hidden gems of the country, find what they've been looking for or let their taste buds run chaos is something he hopes he won't do to anyone. His friends are always there to disappoint him and this is one of those moments where he wishes really hard that he isn't associated with them in any aspect besides this precise location at this time.

When the doors slide open, a shriek erupts the floor before he even steps through and a huddle of dark hair starts aiming right at him.

"Jeon Wonwoo" sings from a voice higher than his and he recognizes it as Soonyoung's voice.

"We found him!" steers close to a scream, definitely from Seokmin.

"So he wasn't lying about coming." He imagines Junhui scratching his head at this realization and he believes he should be offended by this, but it's Junhui.

"I don't know if you were told before this, or maybe you were ignoring me the past three months, but he wasn't lying." He can actually _hear_ Minghao rolling his eyes at Junhui.

And his heart drops a weight into the air. He traces home at his fingertips and his grasp leads him back to Korea, to his friends ruffling his hair, lightweight touches on his back. He drops the urge to check his phone for emails from clients, shoves all comments from his boss about finding someone like picking balloons. It's the snow that never reaches as high as the ones back in New York. Sparks that run down his chest when someone, he realizes it's Soonyoung when he lifts his head back to see, rolls his luggage for him. Knowing that when he goes home, there is someone there, someone he knows by heart. Not exactly a lover or anything similar to that, but it beats his lonely apartment in the States, where no one besides himself talks. It's the feeling that he actually likes the proximity of everyone, the resemblance of family between people sharing different blood after so long.

He misses them. He misses _this_. And he's scared. He's scared of going back to his apartment and missing this even more.

He heads out to somewhere more spacious that can fit the group of men, parting ways from the arrival doors to the cleared floors after every passenger reunites with their someones. He takes a quick glance around and counts heads, scowls when he notices one is missing. Or he should really say two; he's not sure if he brought her along. He asks, over their voices about Wonwoo and America, where Mingyu is.

Jihoon gestures somewhere over Wonwoo's shoulder. "Right there."

Wonwoo turns around to a taller man walking up to him, but his eyes lock on the second person perched at his shoulders, to the small girl swinging her feet at his sides. Mingyu clasps her hands in his at either sides of his head and her black hair falls from a ponytail, waterfalls in a smooth stream down her back. She dodges Wonwoo's eyes whenever he tries to say something to her. He drops it because he understands; he finds himself doing the same sometimes.

Mingyu's eyes go up and he lightly tugs at one of her arms. "You found him, Seoyeon."

 

After realizing that airport security might go after their loud asses, they divide themselves between two cars--Mingyu drives his daughter and Wonwoo in his car, while Jihoon chauffeurs everyone else. Wonwoo slips into the passenger's seat and Seoyeon stares out of the windows from the back, still kicking her feet into the air over her car seat. Wonwoo notices the pack of baby wipes besides Seoyeon, picture books poking out from the sleeves behind the front seats.

"Where are we going?" Wonwoo asks as the buildings they drive past reach closer to the clouds than the last time he breathed in Seoul air; maybe the buildings still grow like Mingyu. Maybe in a decade or two, Seoyeon can reach the very top of the tallest buildings here.

"Junhui and Minghao's first," Mingyu says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of radio tunes, as he smooths the car down to a stop. "I planned on taking everyone to my place, but they begged to change the location. I think they just wanted to show off their apartment."

Wonwoo chuckles at that and he already imagines strings of pictures displaying from corner to corner, collapsing the walls one shot at a time. Cities the two pointed on maps before booking airplane tickets to, bridges they crossed along the way, love drops in every single capture of life. He wouldn't mind looking at a museum of the places the couple visited; he'd actually love to see them all. "They probably put up a whole bunch of new pictures."

"They came back from Spain a week ago," Mingyu pauses to let Seoyeon ask where Spain is, and Mingyu's answer is one that Wonwoo doubts is even close to half-accurate, if not half-guessing, "so there are definitely new ones."

"Is that all?" _Is that the only reason?_

Mingyu shakes his head and rounds a corner. "They went to my apartment a couple of days ago and they couldn't stop laughing at the wall Seoyeon accidentally painted on."

Wonwoo chances a glimpse of the girl from the corner of his eye and his chest hurts at the distance between the comfort of her own, genuine skin and the shell she builds against Wonwoo. He knows it will take time to get her to simply poke her head out of that shell, if she ever does, but will one month be enough? "Did you paint over it?"

Mingyu shakes his head again, one tip of his lip tugging before falling flat. "Of course not. I want to keep it there so we can look back on it."

Wonwoo wonders who this "we" Mingyu refers to, but he concludes that it's referencing everyone who knows this Kim Seoyeon. "Does she like to draw?"

"I'm letting her explore, I guess. I bought an easel and paint and everything. It's all in her room." Wonwoo can't help but leave his heart reassured by the freedom Mingyu opens up for his daughter. With most of a second income gone, he thought Mingyu would have to worry about spending less for himself and his daughter. "Sometimes, she doesn't paint using the actual easel, but that's okay."

Wonwoo snorts, cups his mouth at the horrid sound he summoned, but he listens to a soft giggle from behind. He turns to Seoyeon trying to hold onto her laughter until she scrunches her nose and a snort falls right out. Wonwoo loses himself in her laughter and blends in his own, sends his own laugh hitting his head on the headrest when he catches her father sighing. "You snort, too, Seoyeon?" Wonwoo asks, his voice rising higher than usual.

She nods through her fingers and tries to conceal her smile. "Sometimes, Daddy does it, too."

"Seoyeon," Mingyu gasps, looking back at Seoyeon through the rear-view mirror. He flattens a hand right over his chest. "I thought we promised to not tell him that."

"But we all do it, so it's okay." Her smile drips of innocence and if the human form of heaven-sent blessed down the physical grounds, if Mother Earth flowered the most beautiful child Wonwoo's eyes were honored to peek at, it's Seoyeon. And her smile. It's a bit crooked, her lips not exactly lining up when they part and her bottom teeth still growing, but Wonwoo wants to fold up this image of her and tuck it deep in his heart.

 

Wonwoo drops his luggage on the carpeted floor and plops right on the couch. He leans over to unlock and unzip his bag, pulls each wrapped gift out one by one. Black is an odd color to choose for wrapping paper, especially for the Christmas season, but the chalk-sketched outlines of reindeer is a pattern Wonwoo can't get over. Seoyeon's gift, with the generosity of the cashier, is light blue, sprinkled with Disney characters holding onto presents and warming into Santa hats and sweaters. Pluto sits inside a gift box, tongue sticking out and looking expectantly at Wonwoo, and the only question that pops in his mind is, _Didn't Mingyu have a dog?_

The first one he picks up, his voice is rough when he calls out, "Kwon Soonyoung, get over here" with a smirk.

Soonyoung lifts the box up to his ears and wiggles it up and down. Wonwoo nearly threatens him that he'd like to have the gift back and to forget that Wonwoo even called his name. "What's in here?"

But he settles for, "Why don't you find out?" playing into the air.

In return, Soonyoung opens his arms and Wonwoo stands up, walks right into them, hugs him tight. "You didn't have to, but thank you, Wonwoo."

He continues to announce everyone's name out one by one. The final gift sits at the bottom, to the Disney characters watching his very motions down to the hair strand. He straightens up in his seat, searching for Seoyeon, but he stops when he catches her at the kitchen island, swaying in her seat between Seokmin and Soonyoung. The latter lifts the shoes up to her head and says something to her, eyebrows up and mouth slacking open in shock.

"Mingyu," Wonwoo barely breathes. His throat dries up at the single name. He knows his voice will get lost in his throat when he tries to call out for her.

The said man slides into the cushion next to him, already sporting the leather jacket like he's always had it in his closet. "It fits me really well. How did you know my size?"

Wonwoo shrugs, itching to run up to Seoyeon and give her the three boxes. Wonwoo's eyes refuse to meet Mingyu's, settling for the boxes at his lap, and he nudges the crisp corners into Mingyu's hands. "Hey, can you give these to Seoyeon?"

Mingyu cranes his neck to find his daughter. His shoulders sag when his eyes follow Wonwoo's to Seokmin and Soonyoung. "You should give it to her," Mingyu pushes the boxes back into Wonwoo's lap. Wonwoo catches the corner of his lip rising up slowly. "Just because she's with them, it doesn't mean she doesn't like you."

Wonwoo follows exactly that; he picks up the boxes and drags himself to the kitchen, fingers leaving the box trembling in his grip. Why is he so nervous to give her, Seoyeon, Mingyu's _daughter_ , a present?

"Seoyeon," Wonwoo says softly, pitch like in the car ride. Seoyeon flits her eyes up from the shoe that Soonyoung tries to get her to carry and stares at the boxes. "Merry late Christmas?"

Her eyes trip from the gifts at his hands to his eyes, to Seokmin, back to the gift, to Soonyoung, to the shoe, and back to the gift. "Really?" is quiet with a smile that reaches higher into her eyes.

"Do you want to open them right now?"

"Hey, how come she gets three gifts?" Soonyoung asks, pointing at the boxes with a pout.

Seokmin feigns a slap at his arm. "You gave Seoyeon, like, five gifts on _our_ anniversary."

Soonyoung pulls up another stool between him and Seoyeon and Wonwoo slips right in the middle. He glides a finger over each of the boxes. "Which one do you want to open first?" Wonwoo asks, face close to hers but voice fading much farther away.

Seoyeon moves her head up and down, instead of just her eyes, and points at the thinnest box.

 

Wonwoo rests his chin on his palm, elbow bent on the table, as Seoyeon's head bobs with a red colored pencil loose in her hand. Ariel is turning out great, though the shades of her tail and seashell bra aren't anywhere close to the ones in the actual movie. A hand graces up his back and to his shoulder and it nearly shocks him into a scream, but he finds another hand on Seoyeon's back and Mingyu's face leaning closer to hers.

"Are you sleepy, Seoyeon?"

A sluggish tilt of her head to the side and a hum later, Mingyu arranges her colored pencils from the splay across the counter and closes the tin, fixes the books over the granite with a hand on Seoyeon's shoulder in case she leans too far back. Wonwoo blinks the sleep from his eyes for a few seconds and brushes Mingyu's hand to put every piece of his gift back where they belong.

"We should go," Wonwoo suggests once he's put every book back in the box and pencils in the tin. "It's getting late for her, isn't it?"

Mingyu nods. "She usually can stay up until ten-thirty, but it's only nine."

 

The car ride is quiet only because they don't want to interrupt Seoyeon's slumber.

"Sorry for making you leave early."

"It's okay."

"She's always excited to go the airport, so maybe she was too excited to sleep last night."

 

The first thing Wonwoo can't shed his eyes off when he toes into the dark apartment is the shoe rack; Mingyu's big sneakers, boots, and dress shoes on the top racks and Seoyeon's sandals, flats, and sneakers at the last two. A tall father with a growing daughter. The combination sends something heavy straight at him. He watches Mingyu skid over the hardwood, past the living room and kitchen, and into the hallway with Seoyeon in his arms, and Wonwoo admires the fact that Seoyeon doesn't even twitch under his arms during the entire ten-second journey.

Wonwoo takes off his shoes and sets them on the space in front of the rack. Instead of rolling his bag, he lifts it up by the handle so the wheels won't make a sound if he rolls them.

He shuffles to the living room, dry slides of his socks across the hardwood, and settles on the couch. There's a flat-screen propped into the wall, a long glass table right under that holds picture frames of Seoyeon. Some solo shots, father-daughter pair in a capture, others with friends he knows. He sees pictures of her with each of their friends--Junhui and her kicking high into the swings, Seokmin and Soonyoung running besides her at the field, Minghao helping her hold a camera to her eyes, Jihoon putting on a huge set of headphones at her ears. It warms his heart, it really does, but leaves his chest cold and hollow that he doesn't have a single picture with her, while everyone else does.

If he thought he was lonely at his apartment in New York, he wonders why he feels even lonelier now, with all of his friends and family members just a car drive away, rather than an airplane ride. How long has it really been since he last saw them? He left a while after Mingyu married Jihye, after Soonyoung proposed to Seokmin, before the announcement of the first child, the first niece, among his friends. He left long before Mingyu called him, choking into the receiver, that he filed the divorce papers.

There were so many milestones that Wonwoo left here for the States and he knows there's no way he can relate to any of his friends.

It takes his name whispered four times to get him out of his thoughts and notice Mingyu right in front of him. "I'll give you a tour of my place."

Wonwoo nods and gets up, his weight suffocating him more than earlier. Mingyu shows Wonwoo almost everything--the same blueprints above the desk and the bed he sat on years ago, fish toys resting at the rims of the bathtub, shorter Disney cups in front of glass ones and porcelain mugs. It's _almost_ everything because Mingyu promises to show Seoyeon's room after she wakes up tomorrow morning. Mingyu opens the door to his room again and his bed vasts much wider, emptier than the last time he was here. Mingyu pats the mattress and says that Wonwoo would be sleeping here.

"Where would you sleep, then?" Because Wonwoo doesn't want Mingyu to torture his back from lying on the couch or freeze his spine by sleeping on the floor.

"I thought I'd sleep with Seoyeon, but she's already asleep and I don't want to wake her up," Mingyu licks his lips and swerves his eyes somewhere far off Wonwoo's, "but I'll take the couch for now."

 

Wonwoo convinces Mingyu to sleep on the bed, but Mingyu says that he'd tidy things up first, so Wonwoo should start going to bed. Wonwoo only agrees as long as Mingyu promises that he'd sleep on the mattress. He wants to stay up and make sure Mingyu does sleep on the bed tonight. He even tells that to him, but Mingyu just smiles, shakes his head with mere moonlight ghosting over the side of his face.

"I mean, it wouldn't be different from our university days, right?"

Mingyu shrugs with a smirk Wonwoo can't decipher. "I guess?"

Wonwoo slips into bed after slipping into his pajamas. He falls asleep the moment his head falls on the pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this chapter is kinda slow? and shorter than the first :c


	3. Seoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some warnings before you read: there are more mentions of divorce, mostly at the end of the chapter, and it's kinda heavier compared to the previous chapters. there is also a brief scene that involves drinking. there's like 1 bad word too

His fingers hang onto the bed sheets beside him and he yawns morning into his pillows. He forces his eyes open, shuts it back when the white of the covers blind him more than the monochrome looming outside the window, peeking into the curtains. He thinks twice about where he is and he sighs, sinks his head deeper into the pillow, when he reminds himself that he latches onto Mingyu's pillows nearing the edge of the nightstand, that he landed safe in one piece, that it will be a couple more days before he should check up on his emails.

His second thought of his first morning back is that he can't truly tell if Mingyu slept on the bed, like he promised. The clock besides him screams at him, red at morning's break, that it's nearing nine. It's a tad into the late hours compared to the times Wonwoo wakes up back in New York, but it's his vacation. He needs to catch up on lost sleep that the city that never sleeps drains him of.

He groans into the pillow when childish banter streams about what to have for breakfast, through the doors and the walls and the blankets. After living alone in his apartment for so long, he just can't pull himself to get used to the feeling of someone else in the premise when he wakes up. Guilt washes him numb that he found the chatter annoying, albeit unbearable, at first. He doesn't know what he expected when this is the first time in  _years_  since he last had a guest over, or the other way around. The last time he shared a place with someone throws him back to his university years with Mingyu.

So he stretches on across the mattress, face down and fingers curling into tight fists, before sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress with too much force that he grabs the sheets again to keep him in place. He perches his glasses back at his nose after realizing they were on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

In the kitchen, Mingyu lets something crackle at the frying pan. He wipes his finger on his white shirt before rubbing his thigh through plaid pajamas. Wonwoo would be and should be disgusted, but it's too soon for his brain for that. Seoyeon steps on her green pajamas and rolls up her long white sleeves. She stands besides Mingyu, tiptoeing her eyes over the counter to look at whatever Mingyu flips on the frying pan. The only glimpse she catches is the turn of a pancake in the air. Wonwoo assumes that this happens on a daily basis because Mingyu's eyes never stray from the frying pan when he runs a hand over Seoyeon's tangled hair.

At the dining table, Mingyu confesses that he doesn't have much planned for today because he wants Wonwoo to get situated for his return. Not just with the jet lag, but with the Seoul air singeing back into his lungs, where he should find everything if he doesn't want to ask Seoyeon or Mingyu. Which reminds Mingyu, through chews of spicy vegetable soup, that one room still remains un-visited.

Mingyu turns to Seoyeon, sitting quietly and nibbling on a green onion pancake through her training chopsticks, and asks if it's okay if he allows Wonwoo to see her room. With a simple nod, they agree to show the room after breakfast and Wonwoo sucks in a breath he forgot about through the chance that Seoyeon would say no to him.

Mingyu whispers something to Seoyeon and a split-second later, Seoyeon greets him with a soft, "Good morning, Uncle Wonwoo."

Wonwoo smiles and he knows he walks and talks like a mess in the morning and he mentally promises that he will look better later in the day. "Morning, Seoyeon," from his sleep-replenished voice.

 

 

For some reason, Wonwoo guesses that Seoyeon's blankets would be pink and purple so when he discovers blue covers and gray pillow cases, he takes a step back to make sure that he did go into the right room. Seoyeon jumps into her bed, knees flat across the mattress first and twisting the cotton polka dots over the bed. A wooden desk and chair sit under the window, holding up the coloring books Wonwoo bought for her and colored pencils once again spread outside of tin box.

The other side of the wall stores a bookshelf, standing tall and nearly reaching the ceiling. Wonwoo's book-set sits shelved but cracked a peek open; a tinge of hope spreads through Wonwoo that Seoyeon read a book this morning, but she never finished it, so she left the box open. On the side of the bookshelf, thick and horizontal lines mark up the wood in uneven intervals, next to dates and numbers. He glances over at Seoyeon, who's reading one of Wonwoo's books on her bed, and back at the lines on the shelf.

"She grew a lot, right?" Mingyu speaks up for the first time since they entered her room.

"Yeah, she did," Wonwoo whispers more to the lines than to Mingyu, and another shudder of guilt hits him this morning and, once again, at the thought of missing out on Seoyeon reaching higher into the shelves without any help. The growth spurts he missed out and everyone else was there for.

His feet melt into something soft and his toes dig into the playmat, spirals of printed roads through the city and into the country side. He looks over the strings of pictures hanging throughout the walls, circulating the entire room--more pictures of Mingyu and Seoyeon, of Seokmin and Seoyeon, of everyone except for Wonwoo and Seoyeon. The pictures don't sit behind a picture frame, no display of  _This is Seoyeon's life every single waking day and it's great_.

If anything, the hanging polaroids from fairy lights open up bare and more real than the smiles in the living room. Curled up on the bed, Seoyeon sleeps besides a serene Soonyoung. Soonyoung has his hand over her stomach and Wonwoo winds the picture in motion and imagines his friend patting her stomach to get her to sleep. There are shots of Seoyeon with other kids he can't recognize, students and friends at her school or daycare, maybe. Staring up at the camera, paint smeared at their smooth cheeks, focusing on something off the frame and far off the white border.

The one picture that lingers on its own includes Mingyu smiling with his canines out, laughter never surrendering in him, holding onto Seoyeon with her back facing the camera. White blends into blue in the midst behind them and wind flirts with his hair, bands of his bangs floating above his eyebrows and Seoyeon's hair curling under his chin and over his shoulder.

She's holding onto him tight, legs and arms wrapped around his waist and shoulders. But at the corner, her eyes shut and arch, lips knocked into mid-laughter, like her father.

He doesn't know why he can't look at any other picture, why this one in particular makes him grit his teeth. It takes another four whispers of his name to get him moving again.

\----

Sunrise loses Wonwoo at unread emails waiting in his inbox, unchecked text documents sitting at the piles building up on his laptop screen. He opens just one for the day and it slaps a snort right out of his nose. The second time that disgusting sound comes out of his being, Mingyu hovers behind him at the kitchen table, pestering him what's so funny.

So Wonwoo translates it, the only sentence in the email.  _Do you think it's okay to start your vows with, "Seven years ago, your first words to me were: Now listen here, you evil piece of shit?"_

Mingyu spares not even a blink when he clamps a hand over Wonwoo's mouth and another at the back of his head, shushes him between airy giggles. Wonwoo looks up and notices tears brimming at Mingyu's eyes as he attempts to cut his laughs into mute. "Please don't cuss if Seoyeon is near."

Wonwoo complies, but Mingyu's hand lingers at the back of his head, languid rake of his digits through his hair before dropping it on his shoulder.

Wonwoo replies that,  _Yes, those words are a wonderful and memorable start to your wedding vows. Are there other things you'd like to mention after that?_

 

 

The second time Wonwoo meets Mingyu's sister for the first time, the crown of her head reaches his shoulders. They drop Seoyeon off at Minseo's apartment and the same sharp eyes glint when Mingyu tells her that the guys will be going out and Seoyeon has been asking him for a sleepover with her cousins.

Minseo knows that by going out, the guys will toss back drinks.

"Let's relive our university years," someone suggested. He doesn't remember who it was because everyone agreed, for that reason alone, to head to Soonyoung's apartment with a few packs of beer, soju, Junhui's tugging at Mingyu's sleeve and "I wonder what this one tastes like. Look at the pink bottle."

"Junhui, we're not getting the pink bottle."

Wonwoo steadies the pack of pink bottles at his lap, anyway.

 

 

Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Junhui call Wonwoo out at sunset, long after the stars settled into their homes at the sky. Soonyoung and Junhui want to walk around Hongdae for once, to some park in the middle of it all. Jihoon asks to stay for the rappers spitting out some slurred verses in the eye of the group.

Wonwoo shakes his head, with his phone out, when Soonyoung gets dragged to the center, falling in place with the beat and dancers, soju fumes and natural lights of the night. Wonwoo nods along to the speakers heaving out more bass than an actual, articulate rhythm.

He stands confused and if he's honest with himself, a little lost, but it feels less lonely this way. With half of his friends still at Soonyoung's apartment and the other half wandering around the crowd to get a better view, he loses himself in Soonyoung's grip to tug him closer to the front.

 

 

They decide not to drink too much, a bottle here and there, minus Jihoon. Wonwoo lines a few bottles like matches unlit in a box, ready to pop off the cap and melt whispers of the bottle under the tent of the chicken stall. Wonwoo sticks his thumb through the top of his sixth bottle, hand on his cheek.

"Soju in New York?" barely fights out into a coherent question from Soonyoung's pink lips. His first bottle hits him hard like a fourth.

Wonwoo shakes his head, raises the bottle past everyone's eye-level. "No, nothing like this over there."

He's not sure if he's talking about the soju itself, but he never shied his feet into a liquor store in New York. Not because he thinks there will be no soju or anything actually close to it, but he hates the feeling of drinking alone. He's sober alone; he doesn't want to spend his time drunk alone.

 

 

His fingers hang onto the bedsheets beside him and he accepts the pounding at his head, his temples, inside his stomach, everywhere. He opens his eyes and when he casts his eyes down, a sting strikes his fingers that he knows is not really there. But it hurts all the same. It hurts so bad when he notices his hand clutching onto Mingyu's shirt in front of him.

He doesn't know what he did last night, he can't beat a single speck of memory at the moment, but he needs air. So he slips out of the bed, flat of his feet searching for the right ground, without pulling on the covers past Mingyu's grip or else he'll will whine in his sleep, and grabs a sweatshirt. After washing his face from dry peels at his eyes, he heads down and out.

Wonwoo wakes at the day's most vulnerable time. Sun-streaks haven't tainted a hint of violet and the clouds melt into the black sky. Wonwoo catches a handful of stairs shining brightly and nothing else past it.

He's not the only one, but he's the only one. Couples walk on the same sidewalk but towards the opposite direction. Hands disappear long gone through the link under long sleeves, warm touches. He notices this among most of the couples walking; he passes by at least three of them during his first five minutes. Is hand-holding a sign of love? Why does he feel bad about holding his hands inside of his sweatshirt pocket?

 

 

Wonwoo heads back inside and walks into Mingyu sitting at the kitchen table, stirring himself a mug of coffee. His hand against his cheek, eyes against his sleep, he yawns and lifts for a sip.

"Hey," Wonwoo barely exhales out. His lungs don't exactly hurt, but they don't exactly work, either. Pauses of oxygen stop him from talking any further, not until he sits down next to Mingyu at the table.

"Morning," greets him low, groggy with a lopsided grin, languid blinks faring into the early hours and away from late hours. "Were you gone for long?"

Wonwoo folds his hands over his lap and leans over the table a slight, only enough to see the black of coffee over porcelain rim. "It's been around twenty minutes."

"Where did you go?"

"Just the park in front."

Mingyu nods, steals another sip. "I don't remember what happened, either, so it's okay."

They laugh and it's tired, dragging, and suffocating, trying to free your last breath even when your lungs are begging you that there is no air left. But he still tries to breathe out. "Sorry for worrying you."

Mingyu shakes his head, puts his mug down with a loud clank. "Worry? You're a grown man. It's not like I'm going to tell you to stay inside." After a pause, "Go out somewhere. I'm pretty sure after everyone recovers, they want to hear more about America."

Wonwoo nods this time. "Yeah, I will." When Wonwoo asks what time it is and Mingyu answers sometime before six, he nearly throws the mug into the sink and pushes Mingyu into his room, down on his bed. It's too damn early for this, yet Wonwoo's body tells him otherwise.

\----

Mingyu drags Wonwoo to the grocery store. The last time Wonwoo peeked into the fridge, milk slushed near the brims into cartons, vegetables stocked at the bottom drawers, even meat lined up in the freezer. If Wonwoo steals Mingyu's fridge and ships it to his apartment, his meals for the next months are set and worry fazes him dull.

Mingyu pushes the cart, scrolling on his phone for the grocery list. Wonwoo lets Seoyeon sit on his shoulders and pick out the cereal box from the top shelf, though no one eats the brand she holds in a lifeline grip at her short fingers. Wonwoo tells her to put it back on the shelf and grab one that she would actually eat.

 

  
With the fridge and cabinets refilled, Wonwoo steps out of the kitchen and into Seoyeon's room because based on experience, he should never be in the kitchen as long as Mingyu is here.

Wonwoo sits on the playmat in front of the world map, legs crossed and back straight, as if he sits at a school desk. Seoyeon taps a ruler across the map and points to some countries.

The taps ring light at his ears, wood of the ruler against laminated poster. "What famous kingdom is here?"

He blanks out before face-palming at the realization that the answer is right on the map itself. But he pretends he can't read it. "Um...that's, uh, Norway?"

"Wrong. It's Arendelle."  _What the fuck is an Arendelle?_ She points at the Pacific Ocean, the midpoint between Hawaii and Taiwan. "Who lives in the ocean?"

He almost spits out Spongebob, but he answers, "Fishes."

"Wrong again, Uncle Wonwoo. But it's Ariel. This is why you're taking this class."

He figures that every answer must be related to Disney princesses and Mingyu is definitely right about her current phase with them. So when Seoyeon points at China and asks who lives there, his voice booms throughout the room, out the door, "Mulan! It's Mulan, Miss Kim."

"It's the Chinese, but I'll take that, too."

Wonwoo falls backwards before he can fall forward. He hears Mingyu laughing from the kitchen and he wishes he was there with him, holding onto a knife.

\----

If Mingyu trips on air on a daily basis, Wonwoo wonders just exactly what got into his mind that finalized his decision to try ice-skating. It would be great; if only Wonwoo stops slipping, if Mingyu quits dragging him by the hand across the rink after he pretends to help him get back to his feet, if Seoyeon and Soonyoung finish holding hands and skating, giggling at the fumbling tangle, as if they were sliding on solid ground.

Mingyu takes every opportunity to show off Seoyeon and this one just hits it. "Look, this is her first time, but she's doing so well already."

"If she didn't get it from you, I wonder who she got it from," Wonwoo scoffs, rolling his eyes before something cold and hard slams the entire right side of his body and abandons him to rolling on the ice.

"My grandmother still walks up the stairs at her apartment, thank you." Wonwoo sits up on the ice and rubs his gloved palm at his elbow, where a sting slits his entire arm for a flash. Mingyu apologizes for being rough and holds his hand out to help Wonwoo up. But Wonwoo heeds no thought about getting up. He accepts Mingyu's hand but tugs it down until Mingyu stumbles right next to him, groaning on his back. "Why didn't I think that was going to happen?"

 

 

_Hi Wonwoo._

_My name is Linh and I hope emailing you is okay. I put in payment for four sessions after your return and I hope that it's enough. I also hope that you have a safe and happy vacation. Sorry to interrupt it, though._

_I'm getting married in four months. My husband's name is Peter. I met him in high school eleven years ago. He's been there for me ever since and I don't think the way I write or think will convey how thankful I am for him and all that he's helped me through._

_If it's not too much, I would like to tell you more about it in another time but for now, I don't want to overwhelm you._

_Thank you in advance and I hope you're having a relaxing vacation,_

_Linh_

\----

Life stops short at their apartment after wandering into winter night markets with Seoyeon for the first time. When Wonwoo walks back into the living room after washing up and changing, Mingyu lies on the floor across the rug with Seoyeon right on top.

Wonwoo heads into Seoyeon's room, tiptoes his way around the books trailing the floor, and takes her blanket folded at the end. He walks into Mingyu's room and grabs a couple of pillows and the thicker blanket and pads back into the living room. He drapes Mingyu's blanket over the two, edge brushing at Mingyu's shoulders because he doesn't want to cover anywhere further than Seoyeon's head. He leaves the pillow on the floor besides Mingyu's head and hopes that his sleep will guide him to the cushion somehow.

He squishes the second pillow between the armrest and backrest of the couch, slips over the stiff cushions, and hides under Seoyeon's blanket. He brings his legs up so the blanket covers everything from his toes to his neck.

 

 

The next morning, the weight at his chest convinces himself that he had a nightmare and can't wake up from it. He can't push his memory into actually remembering what it was about, either, and he just wants to wake up.

But he is awake and the weight at his chest is real. He looks down to the sheath of black hair lapping past his chest and he runs his palm over Seoyeon's back. Metal clanking, glass clinking, something sizzling into tendrils of garlic and onion. When he shifts higher up against the couch, he spots a tease of Mingyu's back at the stove and his glasses on the coffee table.

He wishes his mornings follow this routine every day.

\----

One in the morning holds them hostage from sleep and they have to be awake by seven if they want to make it at a reasonable time to Changwon. A thought plagues Wonwoo with insomnia and he spreads it to Mingyu.

"I hope it's not rude to ask-" Wonwoo starts, twisting the sheets at his waist before using his shirt to wipe the invisible blur at his glasses.

"Never. Unless you're being rude on purpose."

"-but why does Seoyeon have her own room? At that age, shouldn't they still want to sleep with their parents?"

Silence at one in the morning is a lighthearted thing, something that passes more often than not, but why is it so heavy now? When the wordless stretches between them for too long, he wants to tell Mingyu to forget about the question, he shouldn't have asked in the first place, he doesn't have to answer it.

"She kind of wanted it" is not the explanation Wonwoo prepared himself to hear, nor the next.

"The first nights after the divorce, the-the first nights after her mom didn't come home, she blamed me for it. She always asked me why her mother isn't coming home after work anymore. She got so mad at me that she refused to sleep on the same bed with me. We had one bed, this one, and all three of us slept on it. So when I told her that she can sleep here," a sigh, "and I'll sleep on the floor, she started to," holds more weight at his chest, "to  _cry_. And it wasn't the sniffling or anything like that. She  _bawled_  and it was like she was screaming for her mother back. She didn't want to sleep in the same room as me. So I slept on the couch.

"But I got worried that she would catch a cold because she kicks the blankets, so I went in there while she was sleeping and slept on the floor. But every time I did that, the next morning, she...she pushed me away. She didn't want me in the room. She  _slammed_  the door at me." Wonwoo picks up the crack in Mingyu's voice and he drags his hand slowly over the sheets, but he's not sure if Mingyu would let him. It's been a while since he held hands with someone so close and he's not sure if he will do it right or if he will do it at all. But when their knuckles brush under the covers, when Wonwoo expects for a flinch or a push of his hand off, he swears his breath loses itself in his throat when Mingyu squeezes his hand right away.

"I didn't yell at her, I never can. How could I tell her not to be mad when her own mother leaves? Like it's her fault? It never was, Wonwoo," the last part dissipates into undertones, "it never was.

"But I wanted to be there when she sleeps but every time I thought I'd wake up before her, she wakes up earlier and wanted me to leave.

"So I asked her if she wanted her own room, the second one in the hallway. If she doesn't want to sleep on the same bed as me, then I'd buy her a bed and she'll have her own room. She said yes and I remember my heart hurting.

"I moved all of the storage out of the room and sold them. I took her to that furniture store, the one we went to when we were buying a new desk for our dorm, and let her pick out a bed and covers and all. I asked her what she wanted in the room, to open her up and get her to talk to me again. She didn't say anything at first; actually, she looked like she was going to start crying. But then she asked for a table. Then a map of the world. She said she'll go to every city on the map and find her mother."

Moonlight casts awfully bright at Mingyu's eyes and tears starting down his cheeks refract even more light over his face. Wonwoo lifts his other hand, pulls the sleeve of his sweatshirt past his fingertips, and dabs Mingyu's cheeks. "You don't have to keep going, Mingyu" fogs right at the glass and out the window.

"I'm so sorry, Wonwoo," he cries, doesn't hold back the sob after he inhales, "I never told this to anyone. You're...you're the first one I told this to."

Someone grips at Wonwoo's heart tight and squeezes his chest, lets his breath cave inward and tears flow out. But he blinks fast to get them to dry; he would hate to have Mingyu see him cry. But Wonwoo almost cries because of the weight Mingyu carries at the emptiness of Seoyeon's mother. He almost cries because regret pangs him with guilt, for leaving his friend here. Instead, Wonwoo slips an arm under Mingyu's neck and pulls him close, allows sobs to murmur against the junction of his neck and shoulder, tears soak into his skin, Mingyu's fingers searing Wonwoo's shirt tight that nails dig imprints into his skin.

"It's been so hard since Jihye left," he chokes, "and I feel so sorry for Seoyeon, for not having a mother, for having me as a fa-"

"Mingyu, don't say that," Wonwoo cuts him before he tip his thought into lies, voice stern and it surprises the two of them. He hugs Mingyu even tighter when he tries to interrupt, but he continues on. "Everyone is so proud of Seoyeon and how wonderful she is and how it's all because of you, Mingyu. I can't picture what you went through, but it's amazing how you can do it."

"Really?" frail under his ear, breaths steadying.

"Yeah, always." When he hears a hum from the pit of Mingyu's throat, a sudden attempt to object, "Let's go to sleep. That's enough for tonight."

"Okay."

"Mingyu?"

"Yeah?"

"Seoyeon really loves you. How can anyone not love a father like you?"

 

 

The next morning, Mingyu only proffers exhausted smiles that die close to his pink and puffy eyes.

Seoyeon asks him about his eyes and, "Why are they gross, Daddy?"

Wonwoo stops eating to listen to Mingyu's answer, to the fabrication he spits so easily. "I rubbed toothpaste in my eye on accident, Seoyeon." He sits at the table, closer to Wonwoo than to his daughter. "I wish I washed my hands right away but now, my eyes sting."

He sits back in his chair to heave a breath, to see Mingyu lying at his daughter. But he wonders how often Mingyu does this--sobbing in the middle of the night about Jihye and Seoyeon, only to wake up and smile and pretend his problems evaporated into the clouds outside for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost posted my first draft of this that would have been BAD. and i realize i'm making up words as i go like screw the dictionary  
> i wanted to squeeze in a chapter before school starts again for me (literally tomorrow wOWZA) and if i don't get to update this fic as often as now because of that, i'm sorry.


	4. Changwon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a mention of wonwoo's weight in the beginning and of divorce in the middle?  
> not sure if there are a bunch of warnings for this chapter but if something comes up and it does feel like it needs a warning, please don't hesitate to tell me!

Mingyu blinks hard behind the steering wheel, ghosting glances at the road and back to his phone, to Seoyeon through the rear-view mirror, to Wonwoo nodding along to the song. Mingyu's eyes blind back to white from pink as he guides the car to wherever his phone leads him, weaves across the country to Changwon, to Wonwoo's home.

Heading to Changwon became possible under Jihoon's advice--traffic, dates, times of when to go. It smacks Wonwoo with a floating sense of failure because visiting his parents never came into his mind as he sketched on what to do back home. But he just wanted to leave his office for a while, escape his boss and faux-sympathetic smiles when he clarifies that he, in fact, is not married or dating anyone.

"Daddy, what's that?" Wonwoo glances back to Seoyeon pointing off out the window beside her.

Mingyu's eyes flicker to her side of the road before answering, "That's a gas station, Seoyeon. Gas helps the car go and if you run out, the car stops moving."

She sticks a finger somewhere on Wonwoo's side of the freeway. "Why is that car stuck?"

Mingyu chances a glimpse past the right lane. After that one glance, he mutters under his breath and Wonwoo assumes his lips read the signs above. "Something must be broken in their car, so they went to the side of the road."

"What's that?"

Wonwoo leans back into the headrest to find a house off into the hills. "That's a house on the mountain."

"It's the only house there," Seoyeon gapes. "Can we play Moana?"

Wonwoo nods, turns to the switches and buttons in front of him. "Yeah, okay." He peeks up at Mingyu checking the left side of the road. "How...Mingyu, how do you do that?"

  
The first destination on the map leads them to a rest stop halfway through the country. Wonwoo gets off first, mends the aches in his legs and arms, as the last few lines of the song hits into winter drifts, cool breezes. A second car pulls up next to them and it takes a blink for him to notice Soonyoung and Seokmin stumbling out of the car. The younger grabs onto Soonyoung's shirt at their mess bound for the ground if his reflexes failed him, and they sing the long note at the end.

Wonwoo looks into the backseat, to Mingyu untangling Seoyeon's seat belt from her limbs, and watches her swing her legs and strain the lyrics out her lips.

" _One day, I'll know how far I'll go_ " startles other drivers and passengers just wobbling off their cars, but it doesn't loosen the hold Soonyoung and Seokmin have as they finish off the line and run up to the rest stop.

 

 

They take up two tables at a time and Junhui steals the seat at the bench behind him. Seoyeon runs around, feet heading straight for Junhui, and he lifts her up and straightens his arm so that she hangs into space. He tilts his head up to her and keeps her above the table, past his head, and plants her on his lap. Minghao slips close to Junhui once Junhui starts feeding Seoyeon his rice cake skewer. After a few bites, Minghao brings a tissue to her lips, wipes at the corners when he starts seeing more red than actual pink of her lips.

Minghao's voice falls too high in pitch. "It's not spicy, Seoyeon?"

She shakes his head and takes another big bite. "No, Uncle Minghao. It's sweet, but it looks spicy."

"Good thing you're not a picky eater," Junhui coos as he steals the skewer from her and takes the last bite. Minghao trades his corn dog for the clean wooden stick.

Emptiness subsides a home at Wonwoo's chest; it's so natural for the two to feed her like their own daughter, to play games with her at no end, but Wonwoo should accept that by now and he acknowledges it. The years after he threw himself into the States, the years he missed out on Seoyeon's life--the gap between him and the rest of his friends grow, no matter how close he stands with Seoyeon.

When they finish eating, after everyone filled their stomach and drained their bladders, Wonwoo slips into the backseat with Seoyeon. Wonwoo readies himself with a stream of question, of what lies behind the glass of the window and fades into zipping speeds of the tires. But nothing comes at him.

Instead, it's a shy, barely decipherable question that gets toned down by the speakers if Wonwoo wasn't sitting right next to the car seat. "Can you tell me a story?" Mingyu's hand goes up to turn the volume down and asks Seoyeon what she just asked. "Can Uncle Wonwoo tell me a story?"

Mingyu's eyes skid back into the road. "A story?"

"Yeah, Daddy." Seoyeon nods a few times at her seat, bobbling her head into her padded jacket. "You said Uncle Wonwoo writes good things. Like stories. Are they like the stories he gave me? The books at my shelf?" Seoyeon leans closer to Wonwoo, offers a secret, "Because Daddy tells me the same story."

Wonwoo grins at the thought of Mingyu lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling to the unmarked territory of the story ready to be drawn above. "You tell her stories?"

Mingyu shakes his head. "Not anymore. She stopped asking me."

"She just said you tell the same story all the time," Wonwoo laughs, scooting up higher into the seat. How long as it been since he last told a story? Not even to a child, but to someone else requesting for story-like wedding vows, to his own thoughts prodding for entertainment.

"He said he doesn't." Seoyeon tilts her head to the side, as if judging her own father.

Wonwoo can't help but laugh even harder at her eyes targeting Mingyu, eyebrows furrowing together. "I'll tell you a story, Seoyeon," spills from his own mouth without thinking of a single sentence in the plot. So he spits the entire story without thinking it through, hoping his mind picks up pieces he left on this road to the end.

"There's a woman who works every day of her life. She wakes up at exactly six in the morning, gets ready for work, grabs her suitcase, drives to work, waits in traffic, listens to the same radio station, sits at her desk, and works. When she's all done for the day, she turns off her computer, walks out of her cubicle, and goes home. She repeats that process everyday. She has been doing that for at least three years."

"Three years?" Seoyeon's mouth loosens open.

"One day, she wakes up at exactly six in the morning and finishes getting ready. She grabs her suitcase and everything falls open. She fixes everything and puts the papers in the right folder, this color of ink with these other pens. She presses her suit down and hopes there are no wrinkles, like how it should be every day in her life. The little mistakes stress her out, but she hopes to let it go soon. She tries to, she really does. She drives to work, does her job, and goes home."

"Oh, that's not bad," Seoyeon mutters, gluing her eyes up at the roof of the car, a thought forming in the gray.

"The next day, she wakes up at exactly six in the morning and finishes getting ready. The suitcase falls open again and she tries to pick it up. She has to put everything back. But then she looks at her suitcase to see what's wrong with it--could it be broken? Is there a missing screw somewhere? Is she overfilling it?" Wonwoo taps Seoyeon's arm. "What do you think?"

Seoyeon shrugs, her fingers waving on her lap. "I think it's broken. But it's not a broken screw. Maybe the suitcase is old. Super old."

Wonwoo nods and continues on. "She sees nothing and goes on her normal day.

"The next day, she wakes up at exactly six in the morning and finishes getting ready. She grabs her suitcase and everything falls open. Again. She tells herself to get a new suitcase after work and she does. So after she leaves her cubicle, on her way to the store, she notices the kids laughing and running down the sidewalk, adults smiling while they watch them. She doesn't think much of it and goes back to driving. She buys herself a new suitcase and goes home. She puts her things and shakes it to see if anything falls out. Nothing falls out and she's glad to find a good suitcase."

"I'm glad she found a new one. What happens to her old one now?"

 

  
Palms press over his cheeks when he places his feet on the ground and reaches his arms up just to relax his muscles. His fists barely rise past his ears when he drops them for the comforting warmth on his skin and his mother's eyes looking up at him.

"Wonwoo, you look skinnier since the last time I saw you," his mother's voice breaks into the wind.

Wonwoo forces a smile on his face, apprehensive at the lie he tells his mother that he gained weight since the last time he saw her. His mother's eyes brighten at that and she claps her hands together.

"America is doing you some good," his father smiles, pupils disappearing behind the frames. "And you've been sending more money lately."

"I don't have anything in mind to spend it on," he confesses.

"It'll change when you date someone," his father laughs, claps his shoulder right then.

 

 

The crown of his younger brother's head rides its way closer to Wonwoo's. If he was worried about missing out on Seoyeon's life, he feels even worse seeing the curves of his brother's cheeks sharpen and much of the weight on his arms and legs sculpting into lean muscle. But he smiles when his eyes land on Bohyuk at the living room couch, reading something aloud from his phone.

"Bohyuk," Wonwoo calls out, leaving his bag at his feet.

His brother would have suffered whiplash from the quick turn of his head towards the front door. His brother would have brushed off a limp from the fast, light steps to Wonwoo before Wonwoo's body breathes in his brother's cologne and hugs him tight.

"I missed you, Wonwoo," his brother murmurs over his ear.

"I missed you, too," Wonwoo says and it's the most honest thing he said since he arrived. When he pulls back, he places his hands on Bohyuk's shoulders before lifting one to ruffle the light brown strands. "You dyed your hair, you gained more muscles, and you got your master's?" Wonwoo smirks as he lists them off, but his lips waver in strength. He missed his brother, but he never realized he missed so much of his brother. "And now, you're almost my height."

Bohyuk pushes at Wonwoo's shoulder. "Shut up. You look different, too."

Wonwoo doesn't understand that last statement because he believes nothing changed much about him. But he abandons it for a second hug from his brother and a drag of his hand to the living room. "Did Mom tell you that we're sleeping in the living room?"

"No, but I'm not surprised."

Bohyuk's laugh is something he wishes he can capture forever, store it under the photo sleeve in his wallet when he longs for home. "So she thinks Junhui and Minghao wouldn't mind sharing your old room with Mingyu and Seoyeon."

Wonwoo shrugs and his mind slaps him with the memory hours ago at the rest stop, the smears of sauce at Seoyeon's lips and Minghao prepared to wipe it off. The fact that Seoyeon _ran_  into Junhui's arms and lifted her hands up to Junhui's holding the skewer. "I don't think so."

"Then Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Seokmin share my room."

He can't help but predict the chaos in the midst of searching for silence through Seokmin and Soonyoung's mouths. With eleven of them under one roof, he thinks the scavenge is futile.

\----

"Are you dating anyone in America, Wonwoo?" his mother asks when everyone slips into their rooms and Bohyuk excuses himself to brush his teeth. She holds Wonwoo's hands in hers, patting pale skin every so often.

"I haven't dated anyone since I started working there."

His father sighs somewhere from the distance, perhaps at the kitchen stirring himself some tea. "You should date someone. Marry them. We can finally call someone our grandchild."

His mother nods and squeezes his digits at the mention of having grandchildren. "A granddaughter seems nice."

"I'll try," evaporates right from Wonwoo's lips with no hanging intent.

His mother leans forward into his shoulder, whispers, "Did Mingyu ever remarry?"

Wonwoo shakes his head. It's not because he doesn't know; it's because he wants to distance himself from the topic. It burns Mingyu down to the bottom of his heart to mention Jihye and lighting up another match is something Wonwoo would never forgive himself to do. He'd rather let Mingyu kindle the flame himself, to have Mingyu strike the match with Jihye's name written on the wood. "No, but I don't ask him about it."

"But you're his best friend."

"Do you know how Jihye is doing?" His father almost crouches at the other couch, mug at his hands and legs ready to relax into Bohyuk's sheets. "I thought Seoyeon would be sad having only her father with her."

His mother's voice fades out with the lamplight at the corner of the room. Barely heard, though Wonwoo sits not that far from her lips. "Yes, it's nice to see that she's still a bright and happy kid."

\----

Moonlight sheds a path for the brothers when Wonwoo holds out a hand to Bohyuk, pausing him away from the book in his hands. "Want to walk?" Wonwoo drums his digits into the air, waits for Bohyuk to take his hand in a firm grip.

 

 

"Remember when we ran around the sprinklers here?" Wonwoo grins at the memories, at the reminder of the photos in his mother's books capturing her two sons dodging waterworks like poison, despite their drenched shirts already weighing them down.

"And a dog started to chase you around-"

"Then I started crying, so I ran to Mom-"

"But then Dad picked up the dog to show you it's friendly-"

"But I cried even harder." The moon guards the bout of laughter between the two, knocks of their heads back from going farther into the streets. They turn a corner, past a store shielding flickering fluorescence and a closed sign inside. "It's been a while since I last saw the library," pieces together through the distance.

"I think three years after you left, Mingyu designed one of the rooms." Bohyuk stops at the entrance of the library and Wonwoo clings onto the hope that the glass doors will slide open. "It's still up. Just a spot for parents to read to their kids."

Wonwoo nods and it's another punch to the guts that Mingyu never mentioned anything about that. His mother's words, _But you're his best friend_ , dissipates in a lie. "Oh, that's good."

"Did he not tell you?" Bohyuk asks with a scowl.

"No, no, he didn't," Wonwoo answers more to himself because he's asking himself the same thing.

"Weird."

Wonwoo slips a pause of conversation, to have a comfortable shift into a different topic as they round a corner. "How's your girlfriend?" Wonwoo peeks at the blush drifting like clouds on his brother's cheeks. Wonwoo budges Bohyuk's shoulder with his own. "You guys must be happy if you're blushing like that."

"Shut up," Bohyuk murmurs, doesn't stop short about Yerin, who will cross the stage again next semester to receive her master's. "Yerin wants to meet you, while you're still here."

Wonwoo nods, agrees that they should go out somewhere, "I don't know, let's go to a restaurant. What does she like to eat?"

"Really?" lilts into a dream. It's gentle in his brother's voice, pitches higher than usual. "She's not a picky eater, so anywhere is fine. Maybe you can bring Mingyu or Jihoon so it won't be too awkward."

Wonwoo takes that as bringing someone along so it looks like he's dating someone. He opens his mouth to speak up and dismiss it, but his lips kill the thought.

"Is there someone special in New York?" Bohyuk treads, kicking a pebble and pin-balling it at the lamppost, straight for a tire, bouncing into the middle of the road.

"No, there's no one in New York."

Bohyuk slips his hands into his pockets and nods. "It's okay, as long as you're happy."

They walk around the night until they reach the convenience store situated at the same spot since their elementary school years. When Wonwoo barely read the cigarette brands at the bottom row behind the counter on the stop home, but he needed to buy the bottle of soda for Bohyuk because they both finished their water bottles. Wonwoo apologized for having to drop the coins on the counter instead of handing them to the cashier with his two hands because his tiptoes couldn't take him high enough. When he and his brother spewed some steam across their room and Bohyuk left too fast for his parents to question and for Wonwoo to catch up, only to find his younger brother dripping tears into his bowl or ramen. When they both loosened their neckties, fanned their faces, and snickered at the condoms hanging at the back of the store.

"Want something from here?"

They sit side-by-side, and Bohyuk still swings his toes from the stool, even though his feet skid fine onto the tile. Wonwoo rips open a cup of ramen for Bohyuk before buying a couple cans of soda.

The convenience store remains as a second home to Wonwoo, only because it brandishes as the midpoint between his actual home and everywhere else.

\----

They divide into two rows at the movie theater because they can't handle having one person left watching the movie alone, despite Soonyoung's desire to hog up an entire section of seats. Wonwoo slips his card into the booth and mumbles how much movies cost.

"Were they always this high?" Wonwoo asks as he tucks his card back into his wallet.

Soonyoung tears the tickets one by one and hands them to Seoyeon. Seoyeon grabs a ticket and passes it to each one of them, all the while holding onto Mingyu's hand. "Have you been to the movies in America?"

He thanks Seoyeon for his ticket and turns back to Soonyoung. "No, I haven't."

 

 

Wonwoo would scoff that "It's just a kids' movie, Soonyoung, stop crying," but Seokmin clutches onto Soonyoung's shirt, mirroring volume of sobs that narrows glances at their direction.

Seokmin wipes his tears before continuing on about "the moment he saw his soulmate. When the entire screen turned into color, it was beautiful."

Soonyoung sniffs and dabs a buttered napkin to his eyes. "Imagine meeting your soulmate in the public restroom. The first color you'd see is either brown or yellow."

Seoyeon cuts off the lyrics of the credits song to giggle at Soonyoung. Wonwoo's parents swing their hands into the air, not as high as before, but his mother leans into his father's arms like years ago. Mingyu explains something to Jihoon about the "way everyone gasped when his world turned to color. What if that's how we find our soulmate?"

Jihoon shrugs. "Sounds nice. If I had one."

 

 

Wonwoo suggests on eating out somewhere, but his mother envelopes her hands in his once he offers to pay for it all. She wants to cook for everyone this time. So Mingyu and his mother stand at the kitchen counter, cutting up vegetables and slicing strips of meat. Metal blade against wood punctuates their conversations and Wonwoo watches Mingyu tilt his head to the side and smile at whatever his mother tells him. He glances at Seoyeon perched on Jihoon's crossed legs on the floor, his palms encasing the backs of her hands as he helps her press the correct piano keys on the tablet.

When did Seoyeon take that much interest in music?

Junhui, Minghao, Seokmin, and Soonyoung rest at Bohyuk's couch while Bohyuk and his father sit at Wonwoo's, television fusing into nothing processing in their brains. By the time Wonwoo joins them, pushing Bohyuk to the side with a smirk, his father forms an invisible diagram with his hands.

"Oh, Dad, Yerin is excited to meet Wonwoo."

"Is she really?" Wonwoo mutters, wondering why anyone, even a mere stranger, would want to meet him.

 

 

Dinner sends a couple of tears right out of his eyes because years stretched between the last meal he ate from his mother's hands, since his brother sat beside him at the dinner table, since his father's laughed filled the room warmer than fusing aromas from pots and pans, rice cookers and plates. It's been a while since he felt so full at a dinner table before robbing a bite into anything.

 

 

Wonwoo tucks himself in the couch and pulls the blanket up to his chin. Bohyuk switches the lights off and a creak groans from the couch at his little brother's hop into the cushions. The _tap-tap_  of his glasses over the coffee table leaves Wonwoo assured that it won't go anywhere else. He's about to close his eyes when something tugs at his blanket, closer to his toes.

He looks down to Seoyeon rubbing her eyes, Wonwoo's childhood blanket in her hands. In the dark, he notices the cartoon characters stringing across blue.

"What happened, Seoyeon?" Wonwoo whispers, sitting up. He pats the spot he left on the couch, but Seoyeon doesn't move.

"Can you finish the story, Uncle Wonwoo?" she asks quietly.

"Okay." She climbs into the couch, grabbing Wonwoo's pajamas through the blanket. When she presses her cheek onto his chest, he lies back down and throws his old blanket first before draping his own over the two of them. He wonders if she can hear his heart beating fast.

"Where did we leave off?" Wonwoo asks, patting her back.

"When she buys a suitcase?"

"Oh, right," Wonwoo replies, but no story pops into his mind at the moment. He decides to wing it. Again. "The next day, she wakes up at six in the morning and finishes getting ready. She grabs her new suitcase and everything falls open. Again. She gets frustrated and starts to cry.

"'It's just a suitcase,' she tells herself, and she asks why she's crying over something like this. She could buy a backpack instead. A messenger bag, a pocket file.

"She goes to work that day and her boss says she's late by a minute. Her boss sends her home, disappointed that she made a small mistake, and she drives home."

"That's mean. It's only a minute, Uncle."

"Yeah, it is. So while she drives back, she tells herself that she will work from home. While she's trying to type, her suitcase falls open and she sighs." Seoyeon inhales deep and Wonwoo feathers a chuckle over the top of her head. "She checks it again because if it's new, why is it broken like her old suitcase? Then she decides that she won't bother with the suitcase anymore. She doesn't want to bother with working so much anymore. She changes out of her suit and into something more comfortable, goes outside, and walks around.

"Everything feels different. She feels free without a care. She wonders why she would keep working so much. She realizes how confining her life can be and that she would have never seen the kids at her apartment playing with the bubbles, or this one old couple sitting at the bench with a bouquet of flowers at the woman's hands."

"Is she happy now?"

"Y-yes," Wonwoo stutters and hopes that Seoyeon's ears didn't pick up on his uncertainty. "She feels happier now."

Silence blankets them more than the actual sheets around them, so when Wonwoo tells her to go back to her dad, Bohyuk's voice sends a jolt right at him. "Let her sleep here. You might wake her up," before Wonwoo reconsiders his choice about sitting up and carrying her to bed. His heart pounds at the thought of half a chance of Mingyu sleeping or the other half of the chance keeping him up late.

Wonwoo lies back down and pulls the blankets up to her shoulder, rubs his palm over her back until he falls asleep.

\----

White embellishes Bohyuk's knuckles as he drives into evening streets. Wonwoo folds open the mirror and dots off strands of his fringe away from the center of his forehead. When Bohyuk brings the car to a red light, the wheels stop moving but the seat lilts like a boat.

"Don't be nervous," Wonwoo assures him as he sits back and puts the mirror back up.

"I'm not nervous," Bohyuk breathes out.

"Then stop shaking the car," Wonwoo grins, "I don't want to throw up before eating anything."

Wonwoo coils into his seat as his brother reaches a hand out, without taking his eyes off the road, and grabs onto Wonwoo's neck. The entire street swirls into a blur of black, red, and yellow, and his brain pleads to hang onto something. When a flash of green sparks above them, his world slowly straightens back in the right direction and the car moves forward.

 

 

Yerin brushes a narrowing strip of her hair behind her ears as she scoots her chair closer to the table. Her smile brightens through the matte red lipstick, solidifies as the night goes without waver, not even when Bohyuk can't shake his eyes from her.

"Why psychology?" Wonwoo asks. And her smile drops. Wonwoo waves a hand over his clean plate. "No, I don't meant it like that-"

"No, I get what you're asking," and her smile blooms. "At first, my parents didn't want me to take psychology. I don't know why it interests me so much, but I begged them to let me pursue it," she answers, as if she never dropped her smile. She brushes a hand over Bohyuk's on the tablecloth between them and her digits curl right between his, through the slits Bohyuk allows, until he opens them up and presses her palm against his. "Actually, your brother was there when they told me to find another major. We went outside and he told me that you still wanted to do literature and writing, even when your parents told you not to. Bohyuk said you seemed to really like your job in New York a lot, and it made me want to still become a child psychologist." Wonwoo nods through it all and it finally sinks into his entire being that he's the reason why Yerin follows her dreams into the night of reality. Her hand shoots up from the table to scratch the back of her head. "Sorry for the invasion of privacy," through biting teeth into lipstick.

Wonwoo shakes his head and it still doesn't register in his mind. "It's okay. I'm really glad I helped you do what you really want to do."

 

 

From the seat, Wonwoo traces Bohyuk and Yerin's figures into the entrance of the apartment building. An exchange of shy grins to the concrete and an eventual peck of his lips on hers, he rushes back outside, in front of the glass doors. Bohyuk steps back to seek among the skies and Wonwoo leans forward into the window to follow his eyes. After a couple of minutes, Bohyuk jogs back into the car as soon as a light flickers from a few stories above.

"Yerin is really nice," Wonwoo starts as Bohyuk moves into the street. "And I'm really glad she's still doing psychology because she loves it."

"Wait, you're not mad that I told her about it?"

Wonwoo shakes his head, admits that he can't care any less.

\----

Wonwoo stirs from blank dreams when giggling rings into his ears. He stretches his arms and legs into the couch, digging his toes under the plushy recesses, and watches frayed outlines of his father's hands lifting Seoyeon up to grab something from the top of the fridge.

And something about everything stabs Wonwoo. There's a certain smile on his father's face when Seoyeon reaches the cardboard with both of her hands. His father's voice drops into mellows, nothing strict and rough at the corners, when he tells her that she "did a good job getting it for me. Now, we have to get the milk."

Wonwoo inhales his tears without tearing his eyes from his father and Seoyeon. He sniffs, wipes his eyes, and lies back down at the happiness permitted by what Wonwoo can't give him. When he hears his brother yawn, he throws his face under the blanket and pretends his blank dreams formed pictures that won't hurt his heart.

  
He gets up a second time to pack his dirty clothes into a garbage bag. When everything fits into the car and Mingyu sets his phone pointing him back to Seoul, Bohyuk hugs him. Wonwoo wraps his arms around his brother, slaps his back and tells him that he hopes he can meet Yerin again soon.

Wonwoo takes his mother's face in his hands and smears drops that won't stop pittering down her cheeks. "I'll miss you again, Wonwoo." His mother's voice, low and whirring of other cars backing up in the parking garage run it over, sends apologies for crying that Wonwoo sends back. "Don't be, Wonwoo."

His father lifts an arm around his mother's trembling figure. "We'll miss you and everyone, too."

Quick footsteps into view and Seoyeon runs up to his mother and opens her arms, hugs her waist until his mother hoists Seoyeon up into her arms. Seoyeon leans forward and presses a kiss to her lips and in his mother's embrace, she leans to the side and kisses his father, too. After glancing at everyone and containing a nervous grin, Bohyuk allows her to kiss him.

"I watched you kiss Yerin, Bohyuk," Wonwoo calls him out, "why are you blushing?"

Bohyuk punches Wonwoo's shoulder before his eyes ask for another hug. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the story wonwoo told to seoyeon was inspired by a game/"interactive experience" called [ "Every Day the Same Dream."](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Every_day_the_same_dream) if you want to look into it or actually play it, i'd warn you about death and specifically suicide


	5. Seoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for once, i have no warnings :D except maybe for like a dash of angst and germs

Coughs echo through cotton sheets and thin walls before straining into the back of a throat. The mattress puffs besides Wonwoo, his spine curving straight again, and he squints to the shadow sitting up, scratching his head, and the inflate of a chest to breathe the dark morning. A word ceases to pass between the two as Mingyu stands up and heads out of the door, leaves it hanging open. So Wonwoo sits up and scratches the non-itchy part of his collarbone awake.

Mingyu presses his palm over her cheeks, across her forehead, softens the hold as he drags the back of slow digits on her neck. "You're sweating, Seoyeon," breaks the silence. Wonwoo does not think it's possible for Mingyu's eye bags to crease even more, but they run in deeper rings. "I'll make you something, okay, Seoyeon? You have to eat first before I give you medicine."

Mingyu gets up from the edge of the mattress and when his eyes find Wonwoo's, they divert back to the floor before hurrying out of the room. Wonwoo watches Mingyu's back fade into the kitchen and when the corner of his shoulder disappears long behind the wall, Wonwoo steps inside her room and kneels at her bed, knees sinking into the playmat.

"How do you feel, Seoyeon?" His tone lilts gentle into the early morning hours, brushing her fringe from her eyes. His fingers push more effort into dusting the sweat-ridden strands from her face, but Seoyeon leans closer to his touch.

"Gross, Uncle Wonwoo." Her voice hums nasal, low, and it hurts to see her stuck in bed and under the blankets. "How come you're not sick?"

Wonwoo laughs, unsure if he should go on about how he's been sick so many times that sickness can't numb him anymore. But he shrugs, suggests that perhaps the wind likes Seoyeon more. "But you'll get better soon," he smiles, more at the snot dripping closer to her upper lip. He leans back to pluck a tissue and brings it up to her nose, tells her to blow but not too hard. He pinches her nose through the tissue before throwing it away. "Before, your dad got mad at me because I always get sick."

"Really?"

Wonwoo nods, crossing his arms on the mattress and resting his chin at the crook. "And he always made me some soup and tea and everything. But he got sick because of me."

Seoyeon crosses her eyes, scrunches her eyebrows together, and sends another, louder laugh tipping out of Wonwoo. He wonders where she learned that from and decides to poke the spot between her eyebrows. As if the gesture soothes the scowl, her brows loosen up and the wrinkles fade. Her smile at him showcases the growing teeth at the bottom. "Where are your glasses, Uncle?"

Wonwoo straightens up and slaps his hand right on his face. His pinky stabs right into his eye and he mutters an "Ow" that shoots a giggle from the mattress before another string of coughs. "I think I left them in your dad's room.

 

 

Wonwoo considers Mingyu's grasp at his shoulders and his own stumbles down the steps as Mingyu pushing him out the door because Wonwoo "should be going out somewhere, instead of staying here."

So Wonwoo bobs his head to the song playing in Jihoon's car and winces when Soonyoung tries to hit the high note. From the rear-view mirror, Junhui shakes his head with a smile that tells him otherwise.

 

 

They never let Wonwoo touch the tongs or the grill and suggests on Soonyoung doing all of the work.

"We gotta fatten you up before you go back, you know?" Soonyoung justifies, slabbing another thick strip right down the middle. Two grills is not enough for the four of them.

"Yeah, are there are any like these in New York?" Junhui asks before stuffing a lettuce wrap in his mouth.

A taste of home in a place where he should start calling home is not exactly curing homesickness. There are times where his boss and coworkers suggested to try a Korean barbecue place, to relieve his longing for home across the ocean, but it's not the same. It's the people who make home feel so much closer the farther away he gets and his boss makes him want to leave. He does remember trying out one place, but he left the bill and tip on the table after nibbling into a side dish. "There are," he huffs out after biting into a hot cut, "but I don't go there. It's always a long wait." Wonwoo chews slowly, piecing his words together. "And I don't really have anyone to go with."

Jihoon nods, leads the nods of the other two. "It's nice to eat alone sometimes."

 

 

Wonwoo requests only one thing during the entire car ride and Jihoon accepts it. Before the car winds back to Mingyu's apartment, Jihoon turns a couple corners to a convenience store. Wonwoo hops out when the others' hands are still reaching to open the door and speeds inside. He greets the cashier and heads straight for the medicine aisle.

He scans for children's medicine for coughs and fevers, picks up a few and weighs the flavors without looking at the price. He grabs a few snacks from the racks and when he sits back in the car, no one questions him. Soonyoung continues his clashes of karaoke sessions against no one and Junhui rolls his eyes.

 

 

Mingyu greets Wonwoo with open arms when he spots a bright red box through the plastic bag. "How did you know the bottle was almost empty?"

 

 

Wonwoo lies down besides Seoyeon and she huddles to the side, closer to the wall, to make more room. "Seoyeon, are you scared of thunder and lightning?" She nods under the sheets and ghosts of her fingers try to grab onto his arm through the blanket. "What do you do when there's a thunderstorm, then?"

Seoyeon's eyes flit up to the ceiling and questions it herself. "I go under Daddy's blanket and he closes the curtains. He puts on music, too."

"Oh, I'll tell you a story about thunder and lightning. Maybe you won't be scared?

"So Thunder and Lightning are actually controlled by two people named Thunder and Lightning." Seoyeon's jaws slack and she sniffs once, the corner of her nose crinkling. Wonwoo reaches over with a finger at her chin and closes her mouth. "They met at the beginning of time, but they were split. Now, they go around the world finding each other.

"But the problem is, Thunder is deaf, but she sees Lightning. Lightning is blind, but she hears Thunder."

"Are Thunder and Lightning girls?"

 Wonwoo shrugs. "I was told."

 "Oh, I get it," Seoyeon pipes.

"So because of that, and because they love each other, they chase each other across the world." Shuffle of the covers wrinkle into the air and Seoyeon turns her head to the side. Wonwoo follows to the world map on her wall. "Do you know why lightning always follows thunder?" Seoyeon shakes her head and presses the side of her head closer to his arm. Wonwoo slips his arm under Seoyeon's head, lets her temple rest close to his collarbone. "Because when Lightning first misses Thunder, she shows it by flashing a lighting bolt, but she can't see it. And when Thunder misses Lightning, she starts to cry and it's so loud. She misses Lightning so much that her crying ends up as the thunder you hear. Her crying is the thunder you get scared of.

"It goes back and forth. They always try to find each other, and that's why sometimes, you only hear thunder or only see lightning. If you hear thunder _and_  see lightning, then you know they're together. They're happy together."

"Daddy never told me this," Seoyeon deadpans and from above, her eyelashes bat.

\----

Mingyu admits that he planned nothing for the day, and he apologizes. Wonwoo confesses that it's okay and that he prefers days where he stays indoors. He sits at the kitchen table and opens up his laptop that blinds him another ten emails just from today. It's only nine in the morning seems longer than an hour today.

He rubs his eyes, plops his glasses on the table, and scrolls through each message. Between taps of keys, he hears Mingyu convincing Seoyeon that the medicine will help her feel better, but "It tastes so bad, Daddy."

Wonwoo pauses his fingers, chuckles when he hears Mingyu cheer for her.

 

 

He slides right under her sheets again because she asks for another story. This time, Wonwoo asks if she has a certain story in mind--something about the character, where they are, what they are doing, what might happen to them. She shakes her head, buries her nose back under his arm.

"Are you wiping your boogers on me?" Wonwoo stills his voice from the laughter, but he sits up, allows her head to sink into the pillows. She keeps her head in the cushions, giggles blurred deep into the cases. He makes her blow her nose one more time before situating himself under the blankets and right beside her.

"There's a kingdom somewhere in the skies, between the winds and sometimes, thunder and lightning. Other times, it's found in the clouds. In this kingdom, the Queen rules without a king.

"In this kingdom, there's a messenger boy who takes mail coming from Earth and to the kingdom," a pause, contemplation of where else this boy would take letters to, "from the kingdom to Earth, from the earth and beyond the kingdom. He has a special power that no one else possesses and that type of power is given once in every generation."

"What's a generation?"

"Oh, well," Wonwoo purses his lips, stares off at the map. "It's like the people born at one time. Your dad and I are in one generation because we were born at around the same time. You're in another generation because you were born next in your family after your dad was born."

Seoyeon frowns, knits her eyebrows together. "Oh, I see."

"So the boy is given the power to travel between two worlds and beyond, except he doesn't know that he can go further.

"When he started out as a messenger, he was only bringing mail around the kingdom--to the commoners, the merchants, or to the Queen herself. Today, he gives a letter to the bakery near his house, and he gets a loaf of bread of in return. He gets special treatment to go into the castle and hand the letter to the Queen. She smiles at him, so softy, every time he comes in. Even with her wrinkles, her smile makes her look younger.

"But then, he gets a letter that takes him far off the kingdom. He wanders off the borders of the kingdom without even realizing it. The land of clouds just never ends. When he's delivering mail and he doesn't know where to go, he has a tool that tells him which direction to go. But he's never told what that place is. It's like a compass; it tells him the direction but not where he needs to go.

"He's walking without looking up and he doesn't notice the clouds changing, that below his feet are not fluffs of clouds, but bright shards of lightning in darkness." Wonwoo opens his mouth to continue, but a sharp inhale, bubbling with snot and the need for the tissue box, cuts his lips dry. He glances beside him at Seoyeon's chest rising and falling, at her lips slightly parted, at her eyes shut.

 

 

A weight at Wonwoo's arm stirs him from his dreams and he wakes with his leg sticking off the edge of the mattress, to Seoyeon's head resting on his bicep. He pulls the blanket up to her shoulders and relaxes back into his dreams.

\----

"Hey, let me wash some of your clothes before you go," Mingyu suggests as he swings a hamper, half-filled with clothes, and the curve situates right at his hip. "So it won't feel weird that I'm doing laundry."

"Can I come?" murmurs from the hallway and Mingyu and Wonwoo's eyes aim at Seoyeon stuffing tissue up her nostril, yellow light of her room trickling down into the hallway. She straightens her pajamas but the lost contact of her arms from her sides sends a shiver right through her.

Mingyu places the basket on the floor and kneels down to Seoyeon. He brushes her hair from her eyes, pushes the tangled strands off her shoulders and to her back. "Sorry, Seoyeon, let me do the laundry alone this time, okay?"

She stares up at Wonwoo, but he simply shrugs. "You can do laundry next time, Seoyeon, when you get better. It's cold outside."

Seoyeon nods, head low, and stumbles back to her room. Wonwoo follows her as Mingyu picks up the basket and heads out. With the door parted halfway, he stops at the door frame and knocks on the wall.

"Seoyeon," Wonwoo calls softly as she crawls back into bed. "Do you feel cold?" Seoyeon sits up at the bed, looks around the room, and nods. Wonwoo heads back to Mingyu's room, grabs the blankets, and returns back to pile them on Seoyeon.

"It's a mountain, Uncle!" Seoyeon shrieks in between a clogged sniff.

He sits on the playmat, props himself up with his hands behind him. "Do you remember the story?"

"The messenger boy, right?" she asks, twisting deeper into the sheets.

"Yeah, that one. Do you want me to tell you more?"

Seoyeon nods and rolls over closer to the wall, until the blankets engulf her entire body. Wonwoo climbs in and lies down, takes only the first blanket at the top of the pile to cover himself down to his waist. "I remember the boy walking with the thing."

Wonwoo's jaws slack and he realizes, once again, that he prepared absolutely nothing for this story beforehand. So he continues. "He notices that he's not in the kingdom anymore. He's above the clouds and his tool isn't telling him how to get back home. He turns around and tries to find his way to the kingdom, but his tool is only telling him where the letter is meant to go. So he follows that.

"He keeps following it until the lightning is far away from him. He doesn't hear the thunder anymore; he doesn't see the lightning so clearly. Then he looks up. He finds an entire field of stars, a display of constellations everywhere.

"He thinks he's lost. He thinks the tool stopped working because it's been telling him to keep going forward. He keeps getting tired at this point and he just wants to sit down. He goes to the nearest star and perches on it, takes a sip of his water and bites of bread while he rests and thinks about how to get home. He opens his bag again and notices that all of the letters he's supposed to mail after this one are gone. His bag is empty and he starts to cry."

"Uncle Wonwoo, what happened to his letters?"

He shakes his head, admits he does not know. "The boy doesn't know what to do. He lost all of the mail! Letters will never reach where they're meant to be; it's all his fault. He starts to cry at the star. He cries so hard that the tears fall on the star and every drop makes the star brighter. The star gets so bright that it hurts his eyes and he has to find another star to sit on. He gets up, goes to the next star, and cries again. But this star becomes bright, too."

He wills his brain to remember when the front door opened again as Mingyu calls out his name.

"It's your dad," Wonwoo whispers, leaning towards her face and the tip of her nose brushes right on his cheek, "maybe he didn't want me to tell you the story."

Seoyeon takes a sharp breath in, but it leaves her in a sputter of coughs, sniffs, and Wonwoo hurries to get her a glass of water from the kitchen. When he comes back, brings the cup to her lips, she whimpers. "Why doesn't Daddy want you to tell me the story?"

Wonwoo sighs, feigns disappointment as he places his palm over his heart. "But shh, don't tell him I told you."

 

 

Sleep greets Seoyeon with a gentle hello when laundry meshes clean and warm in the basket. Mingyu sits at the couch and places the basket right at his feet. He insists on doing laundry by himself, but Wonwoo waves it off.

"Seoyeon fell asleep again, so..."

Mingyu smirks, glances down at her gray shirts at his hands. "Sorry, you should be going out. Seoyeon gets sick around this time and-"

"No, it's fine, really. I like to stay inside, anyway." His words don't stumble as he talks about his days in New York, how he goes outside almost every day for work and the one day he's off, he heads out, anyway. His apartment kicks him out for grocery shopping or laundry, so he's not given much of a choice to stay inside. "There's not a day that I just do nothing."

Mingyu's head nods sluggish, lets the silence drift between them. Halfway through laundry, when Wonwoo needs to lean close to match Seoyeon's Disney socks and Mingyu bickers that "Just because the design is the same color doesn't mean they actually match. Look, you're holding Belle in one hand and Tiana in the other," Wonwoo charms a song from the pit of his throat. Wonwoo lays out the socks on his lap as Mingyu's hands stop folding.

"Is that," Wonwoo spares a glance and places a mental bet if Mingyu will continue his question or not, "is that the Moana song?"

\----

A stab at his neck snaps his eyes open and when he stretches his spine, Seoyeon smiles at him, his glasses subsided at her nose. He sighs, reaches out for his glasses from her face, but she pulls back.

"Uncle Wonwoo, can we make pancakes?" she whispers, but all of her breath pushes into that one sentence and he's positive that Mingyu would have woken up. But Mingyu doesn't hitch under the sheets, mellows out a light snore to seep through the gaps of his lips. Wonwoo scratches his head and lets the world welcome him one aching peek of reality at a time.

_When did kids wake up before seven?_

 

 

"Can we make it before Daddy wakes up?" She hangs onto the edge of the counter and hops, his round glasses bouncing at her nose and leaving crooked once she stops. Wonwoo smirks at the lopsided glasses the stubble of her fingers try to fix, but he lifts them right off. 

"Sorry, Seoyeon," Wonwoo says as he pushes his glasses on, "but I can't see without them."

Seoyeon hops more into her steps. "It's okay. I can see better without them." Wonwoo pours some batter onto the frying pan and he stands there, watches yellow bubble golden. "You know, Uncle Wonwoo, I think they forced Cinderella to cook," she speculates after Wonwoo slips the spatula right under the flat blob of a pancake, tiptoeing to steal a view of the pancake.

"Yeah, that's probably true," Wonwoo agrees. His hand flinches, but he drops it. He lets it fall on top of her head and stroke down. "Thank you for being nice and asking me if I wanted to make some, Seoyeon."

She steps loser for one more peek at the pancake, her arm pressing closer to Wonwoo's side. Seoyeon turns around, brings her arms up, and asks Wonwoo if she can see it burn.

 

 

Snow wishes them inside and they grant her wishes, sometimes loading up a movie in the living room or asking Seoyeon to lower her voice while Wonwoo whirs his laptop at the kitchen table. One in the afternoon strikes them quieter and when Wonwoo's eyes perk up from the laptop screen, he only catches Mingyu's back at the couch, hands alternating from left and right.

Wonwoo stands up and steps straight for the living room. Head leaning back and hair weaving under Mingyu's digits, Seoyeon's eyes glue to the movie playing on the television and her focus mimics her father's. Mingyu's eyes never leave the movie as he braids her hair and Seoyeon sits still, doesn't squirm or yelp at a harsh tug or comb. Wonwoo looks from the father-daughter pair and to the television just as Mingyu speaks up.

"Do you want to try braiding her hair?" Mingyu proffers, edging further to the side of the couch. He taps the top of Seoyeon's forehead and she shifts on the carpet without disregarding her eyes off the screen.

Wonwoo sits down right when the screen fades to black and a string of credits roll into the void. Mingyu's leg sticks to the side of his and he sits closer behind Seoyeon. Mingyu untangles the single braid down her back and splits her hair in half, running the tooth comb down her scalp. He parts half of her hair for Wonwoo and the other half for himself.

By the time Seoyeon's hair trails fangs over her back, snow brushes against windows as if the glass itself are made out of snow and a book rests on her lap. From Wonwoo's braid, some sections of her hair puff out more than the rest and the hair tie at the end isn't even banded together evenly. Mingyu's braid fits uniform in his palm when he finishes tying her hair.

"Mine is so bad." Wonwoo is unsure if he should be laughing or crying, about to pull the hair tie off.

Mingyu places his hand over his and bats it away from her hair. "No, wait. I want a picture of this."

The pigtails may be crooked, Wonwoo's rough fingers separating three strands in all the wrong places while Mingyu cards them perfectly into a single braid, but Mingyu runs his thumb over Wonwoo's braid.

\----

Wonwoo scowls into the pillow. He wants to choke the person who invented waking up at six in the morning but today, he's not in the mood to choke Mingyu. The mattress groans loader than Wonwoo when the dip of the mattress startles the sleep away.

Minutes later, after soft whispers of Seoyeon to wake up, Wonwoo sits at the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes. Seoyeon sways back and forth in her seat, humming to the song playing from the television. Mingyu scratches his head at the stove, nearly letting the spatula lather the shocked strands of his hair.

"Seoyeon, can you get dressed?" Slices of bread splay onto the pan and the smell of butter spreads over the apartment. "I put your clothes on your bed."

Seoyeon gears her eyes from the empty plate, to Mingyu, and back to Wonwoo. "Uncle Wonwoo, do you want to see my clothes?" Her smile spans up to her eyes and if she smiled even wider, her entire face might rip from how much Wonwoo wants to reach across the table and squish her cheeks.

Wonwoo crosses his legs over the playmat, leaves Seoyeon to figure out which sleeve to slip around what arm and which sleeve sends the shirt backwards. She pops her head through the shirt and pulls her hair right out.

When she grabs the jeans, Wonwoo opens his mouth to tell her that the button and zipper are facing the wrong direction. "Seoyeon, wait, your pants are on backwards." Wonwoo points down at the back pockets on the front side and she twists the waistband. Her feet trip on the jeans and Wonwoo lifts his hands to catch her.

Her hands fall on his shoulders and Wonwoo holds her pants up to help her get them on. A few scratches and a bruise mark up the side of her calf and Wonwoo asks her what happened there. "Oh, Uncle Junhui was chasing me," she points an invisible path from the hidden front door at the other side of the wall, through the living room and around the coffee table, into the hallway, "and I fell and the floor scratched me."

"Did it hurt?" Wonwoo closes in the questions further as he fixes the button and lifts her padded jacket up.

"No," Seoyeon shakes her head once but never completes its way back. "A little."

Wonwoo starts to run a comb slowly down her hair on her shoulder. She turns around and drops right on his lap, but he goes off to finish combing her hair. "Did you cry, Seoyeon?"

Wonwoo pauses the comb away from her scalp as she nods. "I did, Uncle Wonwoo."

"If it hurts, you tell us, okay?" Wonwoo consoles her, tucking some strands at her ear. Wonwoo splits her hair down the middle and parts the strands in half.

"I got the other one at Grandma's house," she discloses and her voice closes up, "when Uncle Jihoon had his piano tablet and I fell."

Did Mingyu teach her to call his mother as if she was Seoyeon's grandmother? "How did you fall?"

"Grandma called me to try the seaweed, but I fell on Uncle Jihoon's leg."

Once he ties off the second braid, he takes one of the ends and brushes her cheek. Her shoulders freeze up and she giggles into the morning.

 

 

Wonwoo points a spoon at the half-faded shirt fading deep into Mingyu's sweatpants. "Are you going to drop Seoyeon off when half of your shirt is in your pants?"

"So is yours," Mingyu bites back in between chews of food, smirk staying a little longer at his lips. 

Mingyu empties his plate before the other two gets through half and he hurries into the bathroom. When he finishes, button-down and jeans behind the padded jacket draped over his arm, he offers to Wonwoo, "Do you want to come and see her school?"

 

 

Wonwoo scoots in the backseats with Seoyeon. Mingyu's jaw drops, yawning between glances at the rear-view mirror and eyes darting between his daughter and Wonwoo. 

"Do you want me to drive instead?"

"Uncle Wonwoo, do you drive?"

"I do, Seoyeon," and Wonwoo wants to slap his hand on his face. "Just not here."

"No, you didn't renew your license here," Mingyu dismisses before reversing out of the parking lot.

 

 

At the school gates, under protection of the overhang, Mingyu straightens her shirt down and zips her jacket all the way up to her neck. Wonwoo stands behind Mingyu with a smile, but it falters when Mingyu juts out his lips and hesitation frees from Seoyeon when she leans forward right away and kisses him with a low smack. When Mingyu lets go of Seoyeon, she steps around to Wonwoo, steps right on his shoes, and raises her hands in the air. 

Wonwoo carries her from under her arms and when she perches at the bent of his elbow, he brushes baby hairs from her forehead and the sudden contact of her lips on his plummets something curdling at the bottom of his stomach, soon warming up his chest. His brain can't place a name on it, but he wishes he felt it every day. After setting Seoyeon down, she dashes for the front doors. Hands on the door handle, not even pushing it open yet, she stops, spins around, and waves to Mingyu and Wonwoo from the distance.

"You both have a beautiful daughter," a woman behind them sneaks in. The boy besides Seoyeon swings his hands up in the air and the woman waves back.

 Wonwoo is about to tell her that Seoyeon is not his daughter, but Mingyu beats him into a lie. "Thank you."

Air kicks out of his entire system and leaves him mentally struggling to breathe. The unease settles into his heart and he asks himself why Mingyu never corrected the woman. Wonwoo finds nothing wrong about seeing Seoyeon like a daughter--she's the closest person he can even consider calling his child--but he never gazes a thought at Mingyu's opinion. Besides, Wonwoo is her uncle and she's his niece, no matter how hard it is for his lips to spell out that word.

 

 

They head for the mall, especially since chances are, everything is nearing to empty and less noise shudders into their ears like a crash. They head for a Japanese restaurant on the fourth floor and after ordering, Wonwoo asks Mingyu if he's still working. 

Mingyu nods, mentions that he's taking some time off and he doesn't know if he'll "be able to start working again when I want to, but I didn't want to leave you alone with Seoyeon."

\----

They all figure it's a dumb idea; they called it the moment Jihoon suggested it, but they followed through. The Han River bleeds black water out of rainbow fluorescence and the dumb idea turns out to be one of the greatest things Jihoon thought of, along with every other thing he has done.

Chromatic water show in the midst of winter heats the group up. Pinches of the cold never ceases the smile from Soonyoung's lips as they walk down the park. Junhui passes around heat packs, always letting his palms stay just a few seconds longer. Jihoon's eyes shoot for the stars as the water show paints the dark curves of his face with vibrancy--white ghosting into his face before it melts right into red, pinks and oranges brushing into the tip of his nose.

Before they part, Soonyoung hugs him the longest.

 

 

The dinner table settles into a quiet meal, under clinks of chopsticks into porcelain and accidental glass and Seoyeon's humming of a new tune. Mingyu's eyes flit up from Seoyeon, drags to Wonwoo and a long, heavy sigh falls right over the wood. 

"Seoyeon," Mingyu calls softly, leaning forward on the table to get her to lift her head away from her bowl. "Uncle Wonwoo is going soon."

Her head shoots up and a scowl rips the soulful, out-of-tune rhythm out her lips. "What? I thought he's here forever." When she turns to Wonwoo, pink starts to faded into whites and he wants to stay here a little longer than planned, to thumb off the tears at her eyes. His chest curls up and he can't tell if he almost dropped his spoon or not.

He dreads leaving. Just months ago, anxiety rids him frozen at the possibility of Seoyeon running to the other side of the room because she doesn't like him, of having to stay with another friend because she never wants to see him.

Dinner stops short before their lips when Seoyeon drops her chopsticks on the table, grains of rice jumping onto the table, pushes her chair back with a deep screech against hardwood, and leaves. Wonwoo lifts his hands to the edge of the table, ready to follow her into her room, when Mingyu stands up and runs harsh digits through his hair.

"I'll go talk to her," Mingyu's voice flatlines, but the second sigh right after stuns it back bitter.

Wonwoo stares at the table alone, through Mingyu's hushed voice explaining that "I told you before he came, Seoyeon. He was only staying here for a while."

"B-but Daddy," stutters loud into the hallway, right before a sob.

His heart smashes clean into his ribs and he gets up, stumbles into Mingyu's room with the world still aligning, and clicks the door quietly behind him. The moon lends some rays and it's the only thing lighting up the room. His back finds more support against the door than his knees and his back slides lower, sinking much lower after his shoulder grazes the doorknob.

He pulls his glasses off, taking a quick swipe at the steam fading away. He runs a hand over his eyes and it treads some drops from his eyes, and he cries. He cries with his hands crushing his ears, toning out Seoyeon's cries at the other room. His chest aches from keeping his breaths quiet and sobs hard for the first time in a long time.

 

 

The mattress never opens up a chance for words between the two when Mingyu finally lulls Seoyeon to sleep. Wonwoo glares up at the ceiling, wondering how will they go about his departure.

Mingyu solidifies that staying here isn't an option. "You still have your job in the States and this was only for your visit."

Staying here isn't an option when he was the only one who left in the first place, years ago when his friends hugged him tight at the airport as his father reassured his mother's tears away. What seems like hundreds of months ago when his brother called him after his flight with a shaky voice, asking when he will visit them. "I'll just tell her one more story before I go and then leave after she falls asleep."

"Yeah, it sounds good," and after a pause, "but someone else should drop you off at the airport. I can't leave her alone in the apartment."

\----

Wonwoo lugs out his bags to Mingyu's room and crosses his legs on the floor, folds his clothes into piles. He only packs a couple of shirts so far when his legs unwind stiff under him and leads him to the front door. He almost trips as he darts out past the shoe rack without slipping a shoe on.

Mingyu calls for Wonwoo from the kitchen table, where he and Seoyeon check over her homework. "What happened?"

"I forgot to buy souvenirs," Wonwoo breathes out.

"That's it?" Mingyu laughs.

"Souvenirs?" Seoyeon switches her focus away from her paper and wags the pencil back and forth.

"They're gifts you bring to your friends and family when you travel," Mingyu explains, popping the pencil out of her fingers and sharpening it. "Do you want to see some?"

Seoyeon nods at least three times, "I want some."

"Remember the coloring book Uncle Wonwoo gave you?" Seoyeon nods once this time. "That's like a souvenir from where he came from."

"Can we go find souvenirs?"

"Finish the last question in this assignment and then we'll go, okay?"

Wonwoo moves from the shoe rack to the table. Addition and subtraction problems line up the page in big and thick fonts, almost hurting his eyes despite being able to read it all. Seoyeon's pencil races across the page a lot faster than seconds ago. "I want to finish this fast."

"No, take your time, Seoyeon. What if you get the wrong answer?"

"Then I get it wrong."

"No, Seoyeon," Mingyu laughs and Wonwoo smirks with his hand across his face.

"Work on this while I get your clothes ready, okay?" Mingyu stands up and gestures at Wonwoo. "Do you want to change?"

Wonwoo scans down at half of his shirt tucked in and his sweatpants drooping a tad too low from his waist. Mingyu grins and tells Wonwoo to change first in his room, that he will pick out some clothes for Seoyeon to wear.

 

 

They head to the mall, swerves into kiosks that sell small charms with the Korean flag and maps of the country. Mingyu lifts Seoyeon onto Wonwoo's shoulders when she tells him that she wants "to see this one, Daddy, but I can't reach it." 

"Maybe Uncle Wonwoo can get it for you." Through the mirror, Wonwoo catches Mingyu straightening her padded jacket at his shoulder. "Do your coworkers want something specific?"

"I don't care which ones she picks. I just remembered that I told them I'd bring souvenirs."

 

 

The car drowns in the scent of flowers as Seoyeon rubs the pink hand cream on her palms, on Mingyu's cheek, and on Wonwoo's elbow. A pile of lotion tubes rest at her lap when Wonwoo buckles her into the car seat. 

"I am so sorry," after Mingyu opens the window a slight to air out the punch of artificial aroma, condensed flowers dripping into their noses.

"No, it's okay," Wonwoo chuckles, fanning out the smell beside him.

 

 

Wonwoo sets every hand cream tube, sock, flag, keychain, and pin into a cardboard box in his luggage. He sits back on the floor and organizes his washed clothes, tosses dirty ones in a plastic bag to shove in the washing machine back at the States. He gets a stack going in his carrier, ready to start a new pile, when he hears hardwood creaking for tiny toes. 

Seoyeon huffs at the clothes in the pile and he's about to ask what's wrong when she stomps over closer to him and plants her feet beside the cardboard. She drops down, fits beside the fresh pile, and picks up his clothes. She starts dropping the shirts beside the luggage and her hand makes way for the box.

Mingyu rushes in, shirt sliding off his shoulder, before he rushes to Seoyeon. It's a flash of a second when Mingyu picks her up, a whine resounding in the hallway as he never lets her feet touch the floor, and carries her out. The light spilling out her room closes in with the door, but not all the way. Wonwoo doesn't register the click of the door handle.

It's soft talking, reassurance and in between, Wonwoo makes out a, "You will see Uncle Wonwoo again, okay? He just wanted to come here for a short while."

"But Daddy" trails into nothing.

The quietude screams into his ears until Mingyu speaks up again. "You can tell me anything, Seoyeon, no matter what you're feeling. We can try to fix this if you tell me why you're crying."

"I want Uncle Wonwoo to stay."

Decades pass in fast forward when Mingyu comes back with a hand on Seoyeon's shoulder, guiding her back into the room and dodging the untouched pile on the floor. She stands with her head down, but Wonwoo still makes out wet streaks down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Wonwoo."

"It's okay, Seoyeon." Wonwoo lifts his hand to tuck some strands past her ear, drags a thumb under her eye. "I would stay longer if I can." When Seoyeon peeks up, Wonwoo opens his arms. The floor collides with his back on the impact, and Wonwoo groans that Seoyeon is so strong that he made him fall. She settles down at his lap, watches his hands refold the clothes as she searches for the missing pair of socks.

\----

"Uncle Wonwoo, where are your pajamas?" Seoyeon asks under her sheets softly with languid blinks of her eyes open. Wonwoo robs a glance at his jeans and padded jacket that Mingyu forced him to take before he goes. "You tell me stories when you're in your pajamas, not outside clothes."

"Oh, they're somewhere." Wonwoo refuses to tell her that his pajamas are locked away. "Where did we leave off the last time?"

Seoyeon wiggles into the mattress, humming in thought. "When he cries on the star. It's so hot, his butt hurts."

"I don't remember his butt hurting," Wonwoo teases as he kneels at her side, pinching her cheek. "Anyway, the boy asks himself, 'What will I do? How do I get back home?' He asks that between his cries. How will he find his way back home? He's wiping his tears away when he hears a voice. He looks up right away to a man asking him what is the matter.

"He explains that he lost all of his letters and he doesn't know where this one letter is supposed to go. He doesn't know how to get back home. And he doesn't think he can.

"The messenger boy notices something, though. A crown reflects the stars in the sky that he thought, at first, was an actual star. The boy asks if the man is the king and the man nods.

"'I was.'"

 

 

Seoyeon asks her father to let her stay up late "so I know that Uncle Wonwoo won't leave," but sleep knocks her out fast. 

The living room is the first and last place Wonwoo steps in and out of Mingyu's apartment. They sit one couch apart, and silence kills. Mingyu's phone vibrates across the coffee table, Soonyoung's number and photo ringing the screen awake. He picks it up and after putting it down, Mingyu tells him that Soonyoung is downstairs, ready to drop him off at the airport.

Wonwoo stills in the cushions. "Oh."

Wonwoo waits for Mingyu to stand up first because he really doesn't want to leave. There's home in Mingyu's home, with Seoyeon running around, at his friends' belts of laughter like nothing really changed. When they stand up, Mingyu lifts his arms wide for Wonwoo to come right in. It's suffocating but if someone gave Wonwoo the choice to lose his breath under water or under Mingyu's arms, he would pick the latter.

"Thank you for staying here, even though Seoyeon can be too much sometimes," after one firm rub over his back. _I'm going to miss Seoyeon so much._

"Thank you for giving her those books and colored pencils," when he pats his shoulder blade. _I wish I got her more._

"Thank you for being with her when I was sleeping." _I hope she had nice dreams._  At that, Wonwoo thinks Mingyu will step back, but he only brings him closer.

"Thank you for making her happy." _It's been a long while since I was this happy._

Wonwoo runs his palms up and down Mingyu's back, takes in Mingyu's face pressed up against his neck. Wonwoo swears he hears Mingyu's voice crack at the last word, but he doesn't say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while since i updated this, but i finished 3/4 of my midterms and spring break is not that far away for me! to all who are on spring break, i hope you get to relax and treat yourself, especially if you finished your midterms! if you still have midterms, good luck!!  
> i'd also like to apologize for this chapter. it feels like my writing style went downhill since i last updated, but i really wanted to get something out  
> anyway, lets scream on [tumblr](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com) c:


	6. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a new, yet short, chapter so soon bc i felt bad for abandoning this story for a while and it might be some time before i can write again so i wrote this just this morning  
> a minor-ish warning for this chapter: divorce is still a pretty heavy topic

One good thing while he left his apartment solitary for a month and a half is that his place never caught on fire. On the taxi ride home, he realizes that knocking on a neighbor's door and asking to take care of his apartment while he was away never happened. He stands at his door, picking through the keys in his lanyard, when he realizes that he never mentioned to any of his neighbors that he would be leaving for vacation.

After hauling his luggage into his apartment, he peels his padded jacket, jeans, socks, shoes, everything that still clings onto the Seoul air, and slips into sweatpants, shirt, everything that smothers in winter traces of New York. He opens his laptop over the kitchen counter, lets piano keys tumble into his lonesome floor. He sends a quick picture of his apartment to the group chat because typing in the words _I made it home safely_  is a stretch after the extended flight.

He starts to unzip his bag when his phone vibrates across the granite, almost dips its corner to the edge. Wonwoo glares at the bright screen, checks the time, but it disappears when he hears Mingyu at the other side. It's eight in the morning at his side of the line, and the cries tell him that life won't give Mingyu a break.

Mingyu's exhales press hard into his ear and it's the same kind of breathing years ago, when he called about finalizing his decision on the divorce. "Wonwoo, can you do me this one favor and finish the story?"

"I-I thought I finished it" barely makes it out his throat audible. He thinks the story ended by the time he sets back to the States because chances are, Seoyeon would forget the story after he leaves.

"Uncle Wonwoo left," Seoyeon's voice shakes, douses in some misery that wrings his stomach raw, an offer of that misery to revel at him dry in the open, "just like Mommy."

He swallows back any sound crawling out of his throat, but his neck squeezes in on itself. It's another punch at his neck and his chest pricks at fate's fingers stabbing right at him, and he can't even breathe and-

"I'll call you later."

The line trills keep him company.

Wonwoo wishes he stayed in Seoul longer than planned, perhaps at another friend's house instead. He should have accepted Jihoon's immediate offer the second he read the message. Maybe this way, he wouldn't have been close to Seoyeon. Maybe this way, he wouldn't have known her at all.

But he also wishes he can cling onto Mingyu's shirt when he had the chance to, longs for Mingyu's shoulder to lean his head on and carry his thoughts over the bridge from his mind to his lips. He wants to tell Seoyeon a million stories about a million lives that could be happening in their world, in another world, in a world far off from their universe.

Wonwoo deserts the packing for tomorrow, drops to his bed, and writes a mental note to call his boss tomorrow. His pillow douses in his tears, floods at the regret from Seoyeon's words ever forming in her young conscience.

\----

"Is the jet lag that bad, Wonwoo?" his boss asks, and Wonwoo picks up the ruffles of papers at his end of the call.

Wonwoo mumbles out a yes, about nausea boiling at his stomach from hours after the flight. He paints a fabrication out of it all--stuffing himself with food of home before the flight and leaving him stuck in bed, that his head pounds from the revert to New York, hours of time caught much longer than he predicted he can handle.

His boss tells him to stop, that he doesn't want to listen to his suffering at the moment and that Wonwoo should focus on feeling better. He tells Wonwoo to take his time recovering, to call him if he needs anything, "but everyone here misses you."

 

 

Wonwoo sighs, mentally braces himself for another burst of sobs at the end, but he only hears Mingyu's voice. "I'm so sorry for everything," deflates into the first words. "I shouldn't have asked you to stay at my place."

"No, don't be. I'm really grateful," he confesses. There isn't much he can say that Mingyu doesn't know already, but he explains himself again. "I can't imagine staying at the others' place. I don't know, I guess it's because I never lived with them, it's been years since I shared a place with anyone, and you're the only person I actually did."

Mingyu chuckles over the phone, airy and light over hints of a smile. "The last time really was in our university years, right?"

Wonwoo hates how Mingyu's memory fails him none at all.

 

 

Wonwoo's fingers never lay frozen on his lap, always twisting something nearby. The hem of his shirt irons in jagged presses of his anxiety. The pen cap bends at a far angle and he throws it away. He folds a piece of paper back and forth until sweat beading from his palms split the page in smooth frays.

What if they think his apartment is a mess? He hasn't peeled the sticker off his webcam in years, so maybe the resolution blurs lines better than taking off his glasses. His hair leans to the side, regardless waking up hours ago.

But what hits him harder than all of those, stabs clean into his heart and lungs and slaps his face so strong that his glasses fly off, is the chances that Seoyeon would never forgive him for leaving. Would she be fine talking to him when Wonwoo can't picture himself telling her the two betraying syllables of goodbye? Would she start crying the second she sees him? Does she even want to _talk_  to him?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know the answer to any of those, and he's scared.

Wonwoo picks up the video call and his worries drain out in a single wave when the pixels work together to showcase her crooked smile, hair up in a ponytail, and pulling her padded jacket off. The kitchen table peeks beneath her and Mingyu's chest behind her secures as a backrest. Mingyu leans into frame to get a sneak of his face in the camera's view, and Wonwoo stops himself from mentioning the eye bags.

"Daddy, is that really Uncle Wonwoo?" her voice squeaks at his name, and he wants to vanish into the computer and sit beside them.

Wonwoo laughs with Mingyu at her question and his throat heats up and melts the coldness of last night right off. "No, I'm the King." Seoyeon claps, narrows her eyes to her hands as she slaps them together as fast as she can. "Did you want me to finish the story, Seoyeon?"

Seoyeon's eyes gape and she looks up to her father, as if Mingyu is equally excited for the story as she is. "Yes, please, Uncle Wonwoo."

"Do you remember where he left off?"

"When the King comes."

"Yeah, you're right. You have good memory, Seoyeon." Wonwoo eases into his seat, adjusts his glasses before guiding the story the way to its end.

"So the King takes the letter, reads the name and the address. He asks the boy when he started to deliver mail, how old he is, how is parents are. Last and most importantly of any question, the King asks the messenger boy how the Queen is doing since the last time he saw her.

"The messenger boy says that the Queen smiled at him this morning when he delivered a letter to her this morning. 'The Queen still sits at the big desk and she still gives me cookies when I bring her mail.'

"The King nods slowly. He doesn't look at the boy, he looks far off. Then the King raises his hand with the letter and points down below him. The boy sees the kingdom and clouds and he almost cries again but this time, tears of happiness well up. But then he thinks about the letter; he still hasn't delivered it yet.

"The King says to not worry about it, that he will deliver the letter for him. The messenger boy looks at his tool and notices that the destination is different, the bag is filled with letters, the King is gone.

"He takes a journey back to the kingdom and tells the Queen that the King is delivering his letter and that he seems to miss her."

When Seoyeon opens her mouth, Wonwoo expecting a remark about the story, her actual question plants a silence. "Why did you go back, Uncle? I miss you."

"Oh," Wonwoo glances at his keyboard, to the time on the clock that isn't adjusted for Seoul, "I lived with you and your dad while I visited. I actually live far away in a country called the United States. It's so far from you that I have to take an airplane." Wonwoo finishes the last sentence with the desire of her wonder, that Seoyeon would be fascinated by the thought of taking an airplane. But Wonwoo finishes the last sentence with an urge to reach across the screen and wipe her tears.

She nods, starts to understand. Mingyu kisses the top of her head a few times, smooths her hair, and unwinds her ponytail off the tie. Then she cranes her neck, motions that she wants to whisper something into Mingyu's ear.

Mingyu's eyes blow out wide and confirms, "Every night?"

"What?" Wonwoo leans forward, ears closing in on the speakers. "I can't hear anything."

She giggles out a, "That's the point!" She refuses to look at the camera or the screen, eyes fleeting left and right and all around, and stands up on the chair. Her arms snake around Mingyu's neck so that Wonwoo only sees the back side of her pants. At least they're on correctly this time.

Mingyu's mouth parts once, closes, and parts again to answer. "She asked if you can call every night to tell her a story."

Wonwoo shrugs, rolling the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his wrists. "I can try."

Seoyeon jumps off the chair and with thumps against hardwood, varying in volume and pace, she runs off the screen and throughout the apartment. Mingyu's head follows her general directions and the lighting accentuates the darkness under his eyes again and the solid, yet faint, smile.

Wonwoo dips his thoughts into unspoken concerns, floats them right out. "Is something wrong?"

Mingyu shakes his head, says that he'll tell him later, maybe after she falls asleep. Wonwoo nods, recommends that Mingyu should probably get her ready to sleep or give her a bath.

"Talk to you later, then."

 

 

Ten in the night hours at Mingyu's side of the globe begs Wonwoo for sleep at his corner of the world. It's too early to worry about his hair, too early after coming back, but he remembers that Mingyu witnessed Wonwoo in his worst conditions of waking up all the way back in their university years.

"What happened? You look tired," fades into the air and Wonwoo hopes the microphone catches it, anyway.

Mingyu leans his head back, lips opening and closing, staying shut for a few seconds before finally shifting to Wonwoo's general direction. "It's the thing she said on the phone," he pauses the entire conversation as he delves back to the six words, "about you leaving, like her mom."

The "Oh" levels off and his mind jumps at what to say, but he doesn't want to tell Mingyu that he actually cried after hanging up, that he asked extra days off for his vacation to collect himself after hearing that.

But Mingyu, like every other day he knows the man, never lets words go unattended. "It's probably been months since she actually mentioned her mom and I thought she accepted that her mother won't come back. But what she said made me realize that I was-no, I _am_ wrong. I feel so bad that I could dictate her feelings like that, and it's a sign of a bad parent and-"

"Don't say things like that," Wonwoo's voice cuts him off. The words Mingyu and bad parent should never be justified in the same sentence without any denial. "You're doing great as a father, Mingyu. Seoyeon is so, so precious, and not even just to you. I honestly hope that she grows up like you. You're raising her well, despite raising her alone."

Mingyu stares off and a moment slips by when he nods. He breathes out a, "Thank you, Wonwoo" when the words sink in.

"You should go to sleep." Mingyu's mouth hangs open again, but he ditches the thought and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to apologize for the sadness but thank you for reading!  
> i'm still here on [tumblr](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com) but i'm thinking about opening an account somewhere else?


	7. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some warnings: in the middle of the fic, there is a talk about depression and in that talk, there is a mention of death

He now regrets thinking about choking the person who invented waking up at six in the morning because today, his alarm stills silent into dawn, hand on the clock barely basing past six. Sunlight pours in the opposite direction, away from his windows, but it brightens his mornings this way. Tinges of the night break through his curtains and he sits up at the slam of an upstairs apartment's door shutting.

He also regrets leaving. An uncertain pang at his heart at the certainty that waking up is a lonesome task for him again and he can't walk over to the other room and ask Seoyeon if she wants to hear a story or if she wants him to sit on the floor and let him braid her hair. He wants to sit up in Mingyu's bed, mornings still knocking some conscience into his brain, and find no one at the other side of the mattress because clinks of pots, pans, dilutes of television rolling morning cartoons fill the void from his side of the sheets.

But he still gets up. He still gets up from his bed, half-expecting Soonyoung to message him and the other half expecting himself to ignore it because it's too damn early.

He misses Seoul. He misses his friends. He misses his family. He misses home.

He knows for sure that his office remains without a bother from anyone else but Wonwoo and is in need of kicking out some dust, probably stacked up in layers by now. He figures appointments waiting to be settled and fixed will clog is computer and planner.

 

 

Eight in the morning greets him more friendly than his curtains from hours ago, when bare warmth welcomes him into the dark shop. A single light sheds some rays down for the security camera with security guards nowhere in sight. After locking the door behind him, he walks to his office. He balances the box of souvenirs in one hand as he adjusts the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder, teetering close to losing the grand of his laptop just as his imbalance shakes him awake and aware.

He enters his office, switches the lights on, and he's not sure why he's hoping for someone to call his name--at least, someone other than his boss. His feet almost aim for the door at the thought of his boss asking if he met anyone back at home, if there is a possible person he will be meeting soon.

He abandons the box on his desk and takes out a duster. He should do some tidying up before someone sees his office like this. He refills the business cards at his desk after finding the package on top of his mini-fridge.

Not even twenty minutes later, he abandons cleaning instead and relies passing time on swiping through the pictures Minghao sent him this morning. Every single frame shot into physical memory begs for another trip back. He wishes he stayed there longer, but he asks himself why he left in the first place. For now, he jots down on his planner to run after work to print them all out and hang them in his office.

The tears in his mother's eyes when he said goodbye, Mingyu carding stiff digits through his hair because it's been tough since Jihye left, his brother's fingernails slitting through the fabric of his shirt as they hugged. He sits at his desk, wondering why he left in the first place.

The first picture drops Wonwoo walking through the arrival gates, staring off at the right, even though the guys wave at him from the left. Mingyu stands closest to the camera, with Seoyeon nestled on his shoulders behind his friends. The next one shoves the group together, with Wonwoo jammed right in the middle and smiling up at Seoyeon.

The camera takes hints of Junhui and Minghao's apartment, with Wonwoo hunching over his bag and in the middle of pulling a present out. The stretch of his fingers across a box hints at Soonyoung's shoes. The next frame evaporates the smile from the last, to Wonwoo looking down at Seoyeon's present on his lap. A frown drags to where his smile last settled, and he wouldn't have noticed before if it isn't for Minghao's picture. His fingers and palms press hard over the gift and he swallows hard at the first thoughts of talking to Seoyeon for the first time. Worries bathing him numb that she would ignore him and run off to Mingyu because the tall uncle with glasses scare her. Everything loses itself in a blur; dim of living room lights stark against Wonwoo's pale skin, never breaching very far to Wonwoo's side of the couch.

Has it really been a month?

The next picture wipes his doubts clean. A back-view of Wonwoo sitting at the counter with Seoyeon, pointing at something on the coloring book as she leans over to look. A red colored pencil in her hand hovers over the page. Seoyeon's jacket perches past the seat of the stool, the same padded jacket she wore when he was there.

Everyone sits around the coffee table, some settling for the floor instead of the couch, forgotten plates and pans of food, cans of soda in favor of reviving memories, present lives, what both ends of their worlds missed out on. Wonwoo caves in to the center of it all, with Mingyu listening beside him, as he animates something with his hands in the air.

The longing for another day in Seoul fades into a snort at the picture of Wonwoo and Mingyu holding hands at the ice rink. Their ankles buckle over keeping their bodies steady as Seoyeon and Soonyoung glide by, hand-in-hand, caught in a spell of laughter into gray wisps of the night.

Mingyu holds Seoyeon in his arms as she reaches for the hanging light of the blue tent. Fried skewers line up deeper under the tent at the night market. Seoyeon's eyes peer at Wonwoo, her mouth slightly parted in mid-thought, as he smiles back at her. Wonwoo remembers her question exactly, the innocent, "Why are the Christmas lights up now?" that evades the customers in endearing laughter, eyes sparking at the corners of Seoyeon's curiosity during their late-night snacks.

Seoyeon runs across the frame this time; the rest stop never lets her actually rest and Junhui and Wonwoo fixate on watching her legs dodge everything. While Junhui smiles at her, Wonwoo's face speaks close to nothing. Nothing resembling a smile, not exactly a frown. Minghao captions this picture with a _What were you thinking about?_

Wonwoo wonders, too, but he does not answer himself.

The next picture swings the air out his lungs and the tears smash the pixels on his phone screen. His mother's hand freezes at his face as Wonwoo wipes her tears with his thumbs. He remembers telling her that he did gain some weight while he was gone.

Time twists Wonwoo's thoughts and he can't tell, at first, if the next picture was taken when he arrived at Changwon or when they were just about to leave. His brother balls up the fabric on his back tight, fists tightening out the veins on the back of his hand, and they both lean to the side, almost rocking each other if the picture decides to speed into motion at his fingertips.

It's the first picture without Wonwoo, but everything says Wonwoo. The shot of life at his old room, with Mingyu lying on the bed and holding Seoyeon above him by the waist. Her hair drapes down her head and forms a curtain around Mingyu's face, but Wonwoo senses the smile hidden under the waves.

A glimpse down to the streets, where two vague shadows walk down lamplights. Minghao must have taken this shot of Wonwoo and Bohyuk from the kitchen window, the one over-looking into the sidewalk.

Silhouettes block the bottom views of water gushing into river rushes, rainbow lighting up the night in more shades than the stars. Everyone stands at the river bank and no one bothers to turn around. Wonwoo doesn't even remember Minghao coming, but the idea aims at Junhui sneaking the camera behind them.

 

 

Wonwoo pulls up his calendars--on his desk, from the wall, in his website. A string of requests for an appointment consumes the entire screen and he wishes he spent more time organizing them than lingering through pictures. Before sorting out which appointments will go on which day and which hour, he bets himself that this entire month will be packed.

 

 

It's getting close to half of March already booked when he steps outside to use the toilet. He almost pisses himself the instant he leaves his office because a scream rattles from one person that charges up screams from a few others.

"Wonwoo, you're back!"

"When did you come in?"

"So where's my souvenir?"

Wonwoo shuffles back into his office, grabs the box, and leaves it at the receptionist's desk for everyone to raw it bare and open and grab whatever remnants of home he brought from home. "Take whatever you want. Just let me run to the restroom." Snickers trail his footsteps as he excuses himself, but he walks even faster when his eyes linger on his boss grinning at him.

 

 

He locks himself in his office. He tells his coworkers that he will get to talking to everyone about everything of his vacation when he gets settled, anything to avoid his boss' interrogation. So he calls Linh and asks if she would like to work on her wedding vows sometime soon. Linh agrees right away, asks when Wonwoo is available.

"It's actually my first day back to work and besides cleaning my office, I'm free," Wonwoo admits a bit shyly. He wouldn't mind talking about her plans.

"Oh, you should be resting," Linh's voice dims.

"No, I rested in my vacation," he assures in a chuckle.

After Wonwoo asks permission to record her call for future references, she starts. She starts with eleven years ago, just like her e-mail, of how she met Peter when she wasn't exactly in the best state of her life. High school drags everyone down at one point. "I didn't think I would get to live very long, if I was honest with you. Peter was always there and my thoughts ended up out my head. Sometimes, I'd tell the guy, 'Oh, I don't think I'll be very happy. I won't be able to graduate from high school. I won't graduate from university.' But he was still there, despite that.

"I was recommended to go to therapy to help me with my depression, but I never actually scheduled the appointment myself. I never thought anyone would be proud of me and I was just wasting time and space, like I would with my therapist. So Peter scheduled the appointments for me because I was more scared of my parents scheduling them.

"But I'm still here. And he's still here with me, for me. He graduated high school in the same year as me and I graduated university just a year after him. I stopped asking him to schedule my sessions with the therapist because I do it myself now and I get excited to go.

"In short, the me from eleven years ago would have never thought that I would get this far. And I'm proud, he's proud, and I love him.

"My thoughts are really scattered. I wish I wrote this down beforehand. I'm sorry that this was a lot to take in, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo waves his hands, as if she's sitting right in front of him, and assures her that there is nothing to be sorry about. He admits that Linh is very lucky to have someone who has been through so much with her. He then asks her if they can write her vows at the start of her end of the relationship, how it all weaves to the end of where they are now.

 

 

Wonwoo finishes his call with Linh, promises to e-mail her a rough draft of the vows after he finishes settling down. The smile shreds off his face when his boss sits on the chair across from his desk, a tube of cherry blossom hand cream tucked into the breast pocket of his blazer.

"How was your vacation?" his boss asks as he leans to shuffle a finger through the stack of fresh business cards.

"I didn't meet anyone," Wonwoo spits out without thinking. He mentally slaps a palm over his face when his boss laughs.

He wishes he turned his phone off earlier, before the message lights up the screen and a picture of Seoyeon, Mingyu, and himself at the ice rink blur behind the white bubble. His boss raises an eyebrow at his phone and Wonwoo almost demands for him to leave, to not even consider that Wonwoo will open up to him.

But the knock on the door does it for him.

Sam sneaks her head through the crack, calls that she needs help with a client. As his boss turns, Wonwoo mouths out a _thank you_  that she returns with a nod.

 

 

Wonwoo stays in his office tonight. He has no one scheduled to meet him as the appointments at the bridal shop narrow down to the last three, but he figures going home will actually land him back straight on the mattress. Some clients beam the moon and others follow her into the dark night.

He videocalls Mingyu and his shoulders relieve some weight after seeing Mingyu's canines poking out from the ends of his smile. Seoyeon peeks from the corner of the screen before she starts jumping.

Wonwoo waves a weak hand, but Seoyeon slaps the force back by waving both of her arms above her head, never forgetting to mention that she misses Uncle Wonwoo. Mingyu lifts her up and sets her on his lap. The bird nest of her hair takes form in a smear of pixels and Wonwoo can't help but dwell at the fact that he was just there a few days ago, trying to comb out the tangles in her hair as Mingyu winced at oil splattering on his cheek.

"Did you miss us that much?" Mingyu teases, running the comb through Seoyeon's hair.

"Yeah, I do" murmurs from his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh another slow chapter and this is just wonwoo's first day back at his office. sorry there isn't much at the moment  
> i'm still over here on [here](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com) if you wanna scream


	8. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: one mention of homophobia

_Hi Mr. Jeon!_

_I heard of your wedding vow services and would love to go to New York, but I can't leave where I am. I live in Seattle (I know, literally across the country). Sorry for having to ask you like this, but would you be able to come to Seattle? If not, don't worry about it._

_Thank you!_

_Alex_

 

Wonwoo spreads his fingers over the keyboard, physically preparing himself for a reply of apprehension, but his brain triggers no words at the moment. He leans back, drops his hands on his lap, and leaves a swift twist of his ankle to spin his chair.

With how his appointments will take up this entire month, remnants glossing into the next two months, he's not entirely sure if he would even be able to squeeze in some sessions if this Alex lived in the area because this Alex scheduled no appointments with him. Something tugs his wandering to the other side of the country and help Alex write their vows, even without having to disclose their reason for not coming to New York. He wouldn't mind that, not at all.

So he settles with writing about accommodating Alex, hoping that they will be fine with resorting to phone call sessions or late-night emails. But the motivation to start penning down the reply now drags him down at the moment. He closes his laptop, steps outside, instead, and winds up the stairs into the suit department.

He takes five steps inside, a mere glimpse of the thin presses of suits ringing metal slides through racks, before going back down.

A man he recognizes from a couple of encounters in the building--he's pretty sure the guy's name is Robert--walks two of those five steps with him. Within those two steps, Robert smirks, elbows Wonwoo at the ribs, and asks if he "got a girlfriend back home" while he was gone.

Wonwoo hears a faulty string of apologies darting for his back, but he swings down the steps fast enough for Robert to skid the tips of his toes, scrape polished white tile with black rubber, and lose him on his way back to his office. Wasting just one more second for another question like those, his patience dies out in that extra second.

He sits back down in front of his laptop, scrolling through audio files to find Linh's phone call and the phone from a couple days later.

A knock on the door pierces the calm, Robert's voice sullen in a half-assed "Sorry for asking, Wonwoo" that Wonwoo pretends he never picks up on.

 

 

_Pending $1000.00 into checking account ending in 1717_

 

 

Once home discovers him back at his desk, he charges his laptop to have enough battery to call Mingyu. He forgets about the time difference and the hours finally slip into his mind when Mingyu answers in the midst of chewing his food, chopsticks in his mouth barely hanging between his teeth as he grins wide against the morning sunlight. But he drops it the moment Wonwoo sighs, drags a hand over his face.

"Did something happen, Wonwoo?"

"Seoyeon isn't there, right?" Wonwoo asks when he notices the absence of earphones in sight.

Mingyu shakes his head, clinks of the chopsticks against the bowl ringing through the speakers. "She's at school. She'll be home later in the day. Why?"

Wonwoo's lips twist in figuring out where to begin, but his mouth never fails to keep words flowing when he's around Mingyu, and he's afraid of Seoyeon hearing his words. "I got asked if I could go to the other side of the country to help write wedding vows. I don't know why they won't accept taking phone calls or emails, though. I feel bad to decline them, but I don't want to ask them why they don't want to just do it over the phone. I feel like I have to go there because they dropped a thousand bucks after I asked about accommodating them."

Wonwoo bites his tongue, thoughts nearly tipping over and losing themselves when Mingyu blinks languidly, smoothly, connects the low heave of Wonwoo's voice to the way he can't keep his head up anymore. "So I went upstairs where the suits were and this coworker started walking with me right away. I never really talked to him, but I see him around the building. He was smiling and even elbowed me," Wonwoo spits the next part, as if the idea of even being around Robert disgusts every fiber of his being, through the many lives he doesn't know he lived through, "like we were friends. He asked me if I got a girlfriend when I was home." Wonwoo leans back, stares up at the ceiling as he takes some deep inhales to sort out what else happened. On one hand, that's one of the closest things anyone has asked him about his vacation. On the other hand, he'd rather slap the subject out of an offering palm for a light chat. "Why does everyone want to know if I'm dating someone? Does it matter? Aren't I happy enough?"

Mingyu nods, eyes floating down to the swirls of his chopsticks into the bowl. Wonwoo knows there's something prodding in Mingyu's head and out his mouth, but he would probably water down the words, leave some of whatever agony of a lecture he wanted to fully pour out to Wonwoo. "Are you happy, though?"

Wonwoo shrugs, the question not exactly hitting him as hard as he was expecting it to. "I like how I'm living, I guess. I have an apartment, a stable job that gives me more than enough that I still send money to my parents. My job lets me do what I like, and I like to write. But why does everyone care? What do they benefit from knowing if I'm dating or not?"

Mingyu's cheek yearns for his palm over the table, not even looking back up to anywhere above the keyboard. His voice flattens through the next sentence, something Mingyu believed Wonwoo should already have known. "You shouldn't put a limit on happiness, Wonwoo. You can't just define your happiness like that."

Wonwoo straightens back up and his hands start to lift off his lap to reach forward and grab onto Mingyu's shoulders through the ocean, past the screen, but stops at the wall Mingyu builds up invisible to the previous times Wonwoo spilled out his thoughts to him. But he abandons all of those for a quiet "What do you mean?" that Wonwoo never steadies himself for what comes next.

Mingyu's head sways from left to right, forming the answer out of the tilts of his head and weighing his next sentences carefully. "Just because you have all of those doesn't mean you're completely happy. It's hard to be happy all the time, even when you have all of those. I have an apartment and a job that pays me enough to send Seoyeon to daycare after school and still have enough money for my parents, but there's still the feeling of not being complete. Junhui and Minghao are the photography couple everyone wants to be, but they still get homesick and sad that they can't afford many trips back home. They can't even afford to buy a home in the place they call home, not when their parents still won't accept them into theirs. Soonyoung and Seokmin are struggling to adopt a kid and were close to giving up before you came."

Another punch to the gut barely manages to keep him sitting upright and conscious on the spot, from throwing up right there. How much sadness his friends forced inside so that Wonwoo won't even take a hint of it. How long have they been doing this?

Mingyu throws Wonwoo's thoughts out. "I'm not saying you shouldn't complain because we have it worse, because everyone's situation is so different, but I'm pretty sure people are telling you that you should be happy because you have a job, a home, a car, and they think you'll be happier if you have a significant other. Does it bother you that they're always asking or does it bother you that you do actually want to have someone special in your life and you won't accept it?"

Wonwoo counts the beats of his heart, listens to each one of them crashing into his chest when he can't even force himself to look up at Mingyu. His eyes waver when he takes a scan around his apartment, to the loft bed floating a few feet above the floor, to the wall of books shielding his mattress, the view of lights flickering on from the apartments across the streets and stories higher than his own. He absorbs the printed pictures of his friends, his family, his friends' families strewn throughout the table beside him, and he wishes he can live more moments, capture more pictures with each and every one of them.

His vision starts to draw faint duplicates of everything, ghosts of Mingyu's shoulders overlapping his actual shoulders, and his hands blur over his thighs. He thumbs the tear off his cheeks, smears it right over his flesh to dry.

When Wonwoo doesn't reply, Mingyu clears his throat, sips from his glass of water. "I'll start going. I have an interview in an hour."

 

He drops his basket of clothes at his feet as he drops himself on the couch, turns to his left to edge the basket closer to where Mingyu would be sitting and helping him fold clothes. Seoyeon would try to flatten down the wrinkles away, only for more to rise. Mingyu will laugh at it and tell Seoyeon that he will show her how to fold a shirt before demonstrating with tender instructions, patient hands, a proud smile.

  


_Hi again, Mr. Jeon!_

_Sorry for pushing this really far, but I would really prefer for you to come here. I'll pay for the plane ticket, hotel, everything, so you won't have to worry about the cost._

_Thank you again,_

_Alex_

\----

Wonwoo blinks hard at the notification from his bank, confirming the $1000 into his account. He tells himself he can't go to Seattle, that it really is too far of a reach for him. The other side of the country is too far away from the list of other people he agreed to meet, and it's just unfair. He wishes that Alex will understand his decision, apologizes for any inconveniences this might cause.

 

 

That night, sleep abandons him lonely in his bed. He murmurs to the walls that he's sorry under his breath, beneath the sheets, until they're the first words he tells himself the next morning.

\----

Wonwoo bothers Jihoon to ask about which sleeping pills he tosses back when the moon is brighter than usual, when moonlight actually scares away the sleep from his eyes. Wonwoo spends the next couple of hours researching the bottle of pills, hopes that they will drown out Mingyu's words.

Despite the fact that his work revolves around significant others, he can't picture himself standing next to his significant other. It's a short road he arrives to, he realizes.

How everyone linked hands during high school, college, while he sat back, sharing a blow of laughter with Jihoon. Jihoon toyed with the thoughts of dating someone, brushed off Wonwoo's questions if Seokmin was right, that Jihoon was falling out of love without even considering a wade of it. The nights Wonwoo sat in his dorm alone, while Mingyu held hands with Jihye somewhere. He liked the solitude, the silent confines as the only breaths he heard were his own when at that point, someone would have pulled him to bed.

How much his heart sank horrified and still when he sat with his beer bottle at his knee on night in his first year of university, watching someone sob into the lap of the person she didn't come to the party with in the first place. How much Wonwoo sank deeper into the couch when she muttered a name that did not match the person holding her face.

And that night scared him the most.

The second night that scared him the most gave him his first glimpse of Seoyeon, when Mingyu called him the night he sent the divorce papers. In the dying crescendos of "It was my fault, Wonwoo," "I just can't do it anymore" without Wonwoo questioning what exactly happened, a whimper shocked the conversation mute.

He blinks out his thoughts, his nose barely touching the wall besides his bed, and a split-second saves him from banging his head on the wall as he rolls away.

 

 

_Pending -$1000.00 from accounting ending in 1717_

 

 

_Hi, Mr. Jeon!_

_I have decided to push off writing vows for a bit. I will definitely ask later on and ask you much earlier in advance. I'm sorry if my request troubled you, but just know that there's nothing for you to be sorry for._

_I might come back in a couple of months, but we'll see!_

_Thank you once again,_

_Alex_

\----

Hands of time worked more on this client than any other he has met. The man proves bashful under the wires of his glasses, wrinkles a bit more defined under his eyes than at his hands when he smiles. Wonwoo hurries to open the door for the man, but the man waves him off, past a laugh with more heart than what Wonwoo's own heart can bear to handle, "Don't worry about me, I'm only forty."

Wonwoo pushes the chair back so the man can ease into the seat across the desk. "I must be one of the oldest clients you've met. It took me a while to finally ask her."

When Wonwoo asks about the man's story, the man hinders at nothing, even lets his glasses rest on the desk as he sits back, crosses his leg over his knee. "Well, I majored in engineering, but I was bad in all of the minor courses, I think that's what they're called. I got angry when people joked that I couldn't understand physics or math or even general chemistry.

"But she was the only one who offered to help me, and I think she was actually a tutor in the school. She never made fun of me for not knowing. She was always ready to help me and because of that, because it felt like she was the only one who cared, I thought I started to like her. After a while of her tutoring me, I asked if there was a way I could pay her back, but she said not to worry about it, that my learning paid it all back. I took her out to dinner because we stayed at the library really late once but soon, dinner became lunch. Then it didn't matter anymore because we were with each other so much. I talked about what I wanted to do in the future and she always mentioned she hoped we will work in the same company.

"But she was too good and I was just-I still felt really dumb. She told me she got offered a position in the United States and I think I started to cry before she did. She said sorry for being selfish, but I told her she's not, I told her to take it. I didn't want to drag her down, you know? She was always better than me, anyway. I almost asked her if she wanted me to drop her off at the airport, but I didn't. I realized I couldn't. I didn't want to see her the moment before we know we'd never see each other again.”

The man pauses, lowers his eyes down to his lap when Wonwoo senses some tears at his eyes. Wonwoo grabs a tissue box and holds it out to the man. When he takes a couple, dabs at his eyes, he goes on with an unsteady lower lip, "So I cleaned up my apartment after she left. I didn't want her around, but...I couldn't finish. I barely started. My room had so much of her that I never bothered cleaning after that. Months later, I started to clean again. I really should have started to forget about her because she probably forgot about me while she was in the States. So I cleaned up, but I started to cry again. I found pictures of her, of us.

"I stopped cleaning again. I told myself I will clean some other time, maybe ask my friend to help so he could motivate me to. Later, I think four years later, I-I was driving to the store because my vacuum cleaner broke. At the red light, I looked around and I thought I saw her in one of the stores next to my car. I thought, _it can't be her, she can't be here_. Her life in America must be so much better than mine, so I drove off.

"I asked my friend if he could help me clean my room and he said yes. I treated him to coffee first because we needed energy to clean and it was probably six in the morning. I went to the coffee shop he loved and it was my first time going there. I walked in and the bell rang above my friend and I looked around and I saw her. I couldn't believe it at first. Why was she back? What was she doing here? Doesn't she have a husband in America?

"But she stood up and I walked to her and I held her hand for the first time in eight years.

"I cried on the spot and she did, too, and everyone must have thought we were crazy. Then I saw the young workers wiping their eyes and offering us tissues and they gave us free drinks because they didn't know a thing about us, but they must have felt something.

"I didn't care about the coffee anymore, about cleaning my room, so I told my friend that he could go and order more coffee if he wanted. But I turned and my friend was talking to her friend already." At that, Wonwoo's smile transforms into a laugh that leaves him sputtering for air, clutching onto his stomach. "I had to let her hand go so many times because I was so happy that I cried and I realized, the entire time I was trying to forget her, I really did love her. And I still do."

Wonwoo's heart pounds at the fate of things, how split roads ended up paving for the same destination. He tries to calculate the years and the number is much bigger than what he first comes up with. Wonwoo stares at the love in the man's eyes, the lines nearing his cheeks after putting his glasses down. His hands clasped together, not too tight, as he finished the last few words of his life. The look behind Wonwoo, at the pictures on his wall, that is far from longing and more like the realization that what he longs for is finally close in his grasp and everything is just another start to what they have already.

"What happened to both of you after? How are both of you now?"

"We work in the same company in California, actually. We're on vacation here in New York and I really wanted to try out your place."

"How long did it take you to ask her?"

The man gapes at the ceiling, eyes darting one side to the other, chasing the years between the moment he met her and here and now. "We met when we were twenty-two, then I saw her at the coffee shop when we were thirty-two. I'm forty now, so it took me eight years to ask her."

 

 

Nothing can knock the smile off Wonwoo's face, even as he drives home. He reminds himself he feels helpful, complete,  _happy_   when he helps others with their wedding vows, to bring lives together. His smile never leaves when he ditches the elevator for the stairs up to his floor, never falters when he opens the door to his lonely apartment.

But it withers when he opens his laptop, when the volume of music dims to a slurring hum and it's the chime of Mingyu requesting to video call that blares from his speakers. A second thought never passes when he accepts it, takes in Seoyeon's face bobbing left and right with Mingyu in the back, deft slices of the knife against the cutting board. Daytime winds into every crevice of the kitchen, bathes the entire place even more when Seoyeon smiles and calls out for Wonwoo.

"Seoyeon wanted to hear a story," Mingyu's voice cuts short, levels flat from any tone or volume, and Wonwoo's heart weighs heavier at the thought of angering Mingyu from the last time they talked.

But Wonwoo sighs, cards his hands through his hair. "Did you know your Uncle Soonyoung is a mermaid?"

"No, he's not."

"Okay, I have nothing, Seoyeon," after their chuckles soothe down at the image of Soonyoung growing a scaly tale.

"Can you tell me a story about a dog? Because Auntie Minseo came and she brought Ahji, too."

The chopping stops and Wonwoo's heart could have burst at Mingyu's voice, much lighter now that his response is for his daughter. "You played with your cousins more than you played with Ahji, though?"

"But Ahji is a dog."

Wonwoo glances up at Mingyu, blank face barely holding their own laughs as Mingyu pinches his lips together.

 

 

When Mingyu guides Seoyeon out the door, stumbling for his shoes, he walks up to the laptop, and Wonwoo moves his hand to pretend he'll end the call, to wait for Mingyu to end the call. His eyes linger on Mingyu's when Mingyu asks him to stay on, to wait fro him after he drops Seoyeon off to school.

 

 

Wonwoo moves his laptop to the nightstand, turns so that he faces Mingyu on the screen. Wonwoo melts something between a sigh and a laugh into the pillow, allows Mingyu to leave his story on pause as Wonwoo drifts asleep.

\----

The fifth of April on his side of the universe contents Wonwoo with heading to his office a little later, to the finalization that he will follow Mingyu's words about not buying a present for once. Seven isn't as bad of an hour Wonwoo thinks.

The screen blobs the pixels, and Wonwoo waits for everything to become clear when he greets Mingyu a happy birthday. The "Thank you" cuts off when they both hear Seoyeon whisper a "Daddy, wear the hat."

Mingyu shifts in his seat, facing Seoyeon off the side from where the camera captures and away from his view, to lean forward. A snap stings the air and Mingyu comes back into his screen with a yellow cone hat that reads _Happy Birthday!_ in rainbow letters.

Wonwoo chokes out a laugh from his early hours-closed throat when Mingyu flattens a smile on his face, at Seoyeon's "You look better, Daddy" that sounds serious and honest. And knowing Seoyeon, Wonwoo knows she _is_ being serious and honest. Mingyu's fringe flattens over his eyebrows and his pupils wind up boring at his fringe, the rim of the hat over his eyebrows, and puffs a weak bellow of air.

"She's right," Wonwoo snickers and if Mingyu was here, this is the perfect opportunity to shove Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Seoyeon and Mingyu delve into slices of cake in front of the camera, with occasional offers from Seoyeon that Wonwoo should take a bite of her cake. Each time, Wonwoo leans forward in his chair, opens his mouth to her, and munches on air. He thanks Seoyeon for the yummy cake, and Mingyu goes back to pouting when Seoyeon won't offer him any, ignores the slice of cake on his own plate.

When Wonwoo asks him what they did for Mingyu's birthday, Mingyu smiles with his entire face at Seoyeon, but she never catches on, "Minghao and Seokmin picked her up from school instead of taking her to daycare. They took her to the bakery and let her pick a cake. All of us just sat in the living room, talked, and ate food. It was really nice, but I wish you were there, too. Minghao still laughs at the paint on the wall."

Wonwoo asks where the paint on the wall is because he never saw a paint smear taint the wall.

"It's actually behind the door," Mingyu points his fork to his left, where the hallway should be, and a piece of cake flies off the metal. Seoyeon hops down from her seat besides her father while Mingyu still searches around in his chair to find where the bit landed. After thanking Seoyeon for throwing the wasted piece away for him, "Since Seoyeon's door is always open, it's hard to see it right away."

 

 

Wonwoo waits another hour for Mingyu to start Seoyeon's bath, to dry her hair as she sits on his lap, and ask about his days.

"Is there something you actually want for your birthday?" Wonwoo asks, a sudden rip at the center of his chest that he should have at least done something for Mingyu's birthday, outside of this call and his long-forgotten greeting.

Mingyu shrugs, bends his neck down to Seoyeon before answering slowly, "I actually want to see New York. With Seoyeon." Before Wonwoo can agree to set a date on the spot, Mingyu explains that, "I really want to see the city and how it's like there. And Seoyeon really misses you."

Mingyu stops ruffling her hair under the towel to direct her face straight at the camera. She gets Wonwoo to melt with a wide smile, pokes of white teeth coming into rise. "I want to see you, Uncle Wonwoo."

"When do you want to come?" Wonwoo finally speaks the one thing he's been wondering, too.

Mingyu stutters about the cost, Wonwoo’s work, how much of a hassle it will be for Mingyu and Seoyeon to find a hotel to stay in for the while, "Are you serious?"

Wonwoo nods. "Of course."

\----

Wonwoo hurries to the dry cleaner's, to grab his suit and type the location for Linh's wedding on his phone.

 

 

The city wanes at his fingertips as he strides up to the glass walls, to the towers soaring for the skies and stars settling over the city. Wonwoo presses his palm on the transparent, wants to watch the city break down into spreads of onyx and specks of white gold before his eyes.

But it all dwindles off when there are arms around him, and he turns to Linh pulling herself back, only to wrap her arms around him and thank him one more time for his wedding vows. Wonwoo mutters that he doesn't know where he should hug her that won't ruin the deep waves of her hair, and she hugs him even tighter.

He asks for a picture with the soon-to-be's in front of the city. He offers an arm for Linh to hook into and after a few flashes of a camera, he shakes hands with the man named Peter, thanks him for being there for Linh all of these years.

\----

Wonwoo treasures the video the moment Linh sent it to him a couple of days after the wedding, along with strings of thank you's, _Your vows were more than perfect_ , _I couldn't ask for any better words_.

He plays the video on his phone and lets the sleepless city drown into the white lights at the center, to the podium in buried in front of the audience. Linh glances down at her hands in Peter's, revels in the moment before everything starts again for the two of them. Wonwoo rests his phone on his chest, escapes his ears for Linh’s voice.

"When I met you eleven years ago, I told you that I couldn't picture myself being happy. Ten years ago, I couldn't picture myself walking across the stage and receiving my high school diploma. Nine years ago, I told you I couldn't picture myself getting any better.

"Eight years ago, I told you I couldn't picture myself walking into the therapist's office alone. Six years ago, I couldn't picture walking across the stage for my bachelor's degree. Three years ago, I told you that I couldn't picture anyone telling me they are proud of me.

"Eleven years of doubting myself of being able to do anything, it feels like a fantasy that I walked down the aisle with you at the very end of it all. Eleven years ago, I would have never thought I would make it this far in life. All these years of doubt, the one thing I know is certain is that during these eleven years, I learned that I can never picture living my life without you.

"So for the next years, decades of your life, I want you to know that I will be there for you if you find yourself having a hard time to breathe, if you just need a hand to hold, if you start to doubt yourself. I will be there for you like you were there for me these past eleven years, when I held onto my diploma for the rest of graduation night. When I shook my favorite professor's hand before he handed me my bachelor's degree. When I told you that I'll schedule my next appointment with the therapist this time, instead of asking you to do it because I was scared. When my parents told me they were proud of me and you told me you love me."

\----

Wonwoo closes his office early to dip his head into the dresses department. He looks for Sam, among other branches of long hair looming the floor. When he spots her, back in the corner and watching a client spin in a ballgown dress, he walks fast towards her, trips to a stop when she turns around and they barely get away with slamming into each other.

"Hi, Sam," Wonwoo exhales, nudging his glasses upright.

"Hi, Wonwoo," she smirks, eyeing somewhere above Wonwoo. He doesn't look up, just asks her right away if she isn't busy after her shift. When she asks what for, Wonwoo's voice streams down about coming to the mall with him to find a dress for his niece, and the word "niece" doesn't settle in his tongue friendly and right.

"I want something simple for her. It's not for a wedding, just something nice for the spring season."

Her eyebrows rise and there's a motherly smile resting on her face when Wonwoo mentions that this dress is for a little girl. Wonwoo supplies that his niece is turning six years old in May, which claps Sam's hands together before grabbing Wonwoo's, tripping over her words of how, "She's not that much younger than my daughter, so I hope you don't mind if I find something for her, too, while we look."

"Not at all," Wonwoo sighs more than replies, relief that Sam jumps into agreeing to go with him without hesitation."

Sam checks the watch on her wrist when he asks when she will be off, frowns in disappointment when she still has a couple of hours to go. Wonwoo waves it off, dismisses that he can wait for her in his office.

 

 

In the car ride, Wonwoo taps his fingers on the steering wheel as music plays and he forgets that it's not in English.

"Is this in your native language?" Sam prods, squinting her eyes to read the Korean on the screen.

Wonwoo nods, "Sorry, you can change it." He brings his hand up to turn the dial to the radio, but Sam places a hand on his wrist, tells him that she doesn't mind listening to it. "Did you want dinner after? We can eat somewhere, my treat for coming with me."

"Wonwoo, we didn't even buy anything yet," Sam protests at first. "But sure, that'd be nice."

Wonwoo's foot struggles to heed slamming the brake when he realizes he forgot one important thing. "Wait, who's watching your kids?"

"Oh, my wife is with my parents because the kids love visiting them. She was fine with me going to the mall. I think she and my parents can survive watching three kids."

Wonwoo's mind kindles the thought of family, of being so close to the people you love so much. The warmth travels all over and burns more into longing.

Sam lets the silence bubble between them, gives into a comfortable long-enough time of the wordless before she turns questions back to Wonwoo. "So how was your vacation? I never got to ask you because you always have clients coming in and out of your office. While you were away, a few stopped by, but I told them you were still gone."

Wonwoo snorts, wonders if those people can read the sign on his window. "Sorry about that." It's the first time anyone genuinely asked Wonwoo about his vacation, proffers a conversation about his time away, rather than his love life away. And he's relieved that it's Sam who asks him first. "I got really close to my niece while I was home. I saw that she has a couple of dresses, so I wanted to get her another." He mentions the stories he tells her before bed, on the bed, while letting time pass around them but seizing the moment. "And she exposed me to Disney princesses and now, I can't get the Moana song out of my head."

Sam's head falls back against the headrest and Wonwoo barely squeezes the laugh he tries to cover when she rubs the spot at the bang. "My sons sing the Moana song all the time, but my daughter, not so much. She likes the 'You're Welcome' song more."

 

 

"Wonwoo, do you know what size your niece is?" Sam asks as she fingers through the racks of dresses, floral prints simplifying from pink, blue, purple. Wonwoo stares at the hangers and wonders how Sam can look through all of them in one go but then again, that's what she does when Wonwoo sulks in his office.

"Uh," Wonwoo's eyes land on his feet, wills his memory to remember how tall Seoyeon is when he hugged her the last time. Wonwoo lowers his hand below his chest, levels it off so his palm faces the floor. "She's like this tall."

Sam smirks, asks what his niece likes, "Does she like floral? Plaid, stripes? Simple blank dresses? What about a belt at her waist?"

Another "Uh" breaks another giggle between the two. "I actually don't know. I don't want to ask her dad because I want to surprise both of them."

After Sam asks what his niece's name is, she sounds it out herself, attempts to throw away the American accent. Wonwoo says it's pretty close and better than he would have thought. "You said she's turning six?" When Wonwoo nods, she mouths off a _Wow_ , "She's so tall for her age."

"Her dad is tall, too." He acknowledges that he will never reach Mingyu's height. "He's taller than me by a couple of inches."

"You're already so tall, Wonwoo," she teases, stomping in a playful fit. "I hope my kids will grow, too, because when I get old, I won’t be able to reach the cabinets. Seoyeon is taller than my daughter already."

 

 

A paper bag swings between their arms as they circle around each floor of the mall to figure out what to eat, with the dress folded in a gift box. Lined with vertical whites and blues, the dress will probably make its way to Seoyeon's knees before it's cut off. A bow in the back hopefully steadies the dress at Seoyeon's shoulder.

Wonwoo thanks Sam again for her help, but she says it's nothing.

 

 

They find a hot pot and Korean barbecue place in the mall and Wonwoo asks her if this restaurant has been here this whole time. Sam nods and Wonwoo asks himself where has he been lately.

"Is it your first time in one of these here?"

Wonwoo shakes his head and he wants to sit back, imagine that it's Soonyoung cutting the pieces of beef, sizzling grilled slices for him. It’s not that he loathes being with Sam, because he can never find a reason to even be annoyed by her. "I only go to these when I'm back at home. I tried eating at one of these here, but it just doesn't feel the same."

Once a waitress guides them to their seats, Wonwoo glances over his menu and tells Sam to order whatever she wants. She traces her fingertips over each of the items, sounding out each syllable in _samgyeopsal_ , _bulgogi_ , "What do the double t's mean?"

Wonwoo slips the corner of his lips down when pieces of home wind his way back to him, to the very thought of sitting down with Junhui, Soonyoung, and Jihoon around the grill and talking as if the night lasts forever and forever is all they've got. He misses the warmth of the grill flaring against winter air, chatter blaring under the roof in the language he knows best, around the people who knows him best.

"Feeling homesick?" Sam's voice is low, and she places the menu down in front of her. "We can eat somewhere else, Wonwoo. There's a J-"

He shakes his head, flips through the menu, anyway. "Yeah, kind of. But it's okay, I want to eat here," and he pulls the widest smile he can muster.

Sam shakes her head, asks about Seoyeon and if "her parents spoil her as much as you do."

Wonwoo grips the menu harder in his fist. "Her parents separated long that long ago," monotonous over the waitress placing side dishes around the grill.

Her eyes drop and he notices her frantic search for something to look at that isn't Wonwoo. "Sorry for asking."

"No, it's okay. She lives with her dad now and I stayed over at his place during my vacation. I don't think I saw a single toy in their home, but she has a lot of books."

"Oh, so that's how you two got close." Wonwoo confesses that he never thought he would get so close to her--at least, not this fast. "Can I see a picture of this Seoyeon?" Wonwoo opens up his phone and leans over, swiping a few times until he lands on a picture of Seoyeon on Mingyu's shoulders, under branches of trees sinking lower to the ground, trying to bear the weight of snow. "This is the girl on your wall, isn't she? The one sitting on someone's lap?" After Wonwoo hums, "Wow, they look so alike. How did I not realize that it was her father in the picture?"

Wonwoo wishes Seoyeon and Mingyu are sitting right beside him, helping Sam pronounce everything on the menu. He never went to a barbecue place with the two, but it would be nice to try when he goes back someday. Sam cuts out his thoughts, cuts off the tears about to form at his eyes. "What did you do during your vacation? It sounds like you had a lot of fun."

He sits up straight in his seat, discards the menu completely, and goes on about his friends surprising him by taking him to his hometown and seeing his family for the first time in years. He nervously scratches the back of his head when he talks about trying out ice skating for the first time and how "Seoyeon was just a natural at it." When she asks about his own ice-skating skills, Wonwoo turns it down, shakes his head because that day is found under the dictionary-definition of disaster. "I should never get close to an ice rink again."

He swipes the screen again and it's a picture of the three together that makes Sam mutter a, "You really do look like a family here." Wonwoo tilts the screen back at himself, to the picture in the movie theater. Seoyeon sitting between Mingyu and Wonwoo, he remembers following Seoyeon's peace signs shot up in the air with a shy one under his chin. Mingyu flashes his canines in a smile that lights up the dimming movie house, and Wonwoo puts the memory back together, to Seoyeon balancing the box of popcorn on her lap before Mingyu catches it from tipping over.

\----

Between Wonwoo squeezing as much time as he can to call Mingyu and Seoyeon and sit in his office with clients, he notices the frown on Seoyeon's face when her father tells her that they should sleep, that Wonwoo should sleep, without the chance of a story. Seoyeon gives into it, anyway, and bids Wonwoo a deflated goodnight.

\----

The twenty-sixth of May in Wonwoo's home opens with Mingyu's kitchen shifting into focus on his screen. Facing the stove from the side, where Mingyu tosses vegetables on the frying pan, Mingyu talks through what he wants to cook, that Seoyeon is bringing her friends over, and that Mingyu is bringing the guys over.

"I told them not to bring presents because Seoyeon will love just having the company of her friends and uncles but this morning, Seokmin asked me how they should wrap a bicycle and if I think it will fit in the elevator."

Wonwoo expects nothing less than that from his friends, especially Seokmin and Soonyoung. Wonwoo tsks at Mingyu, bogs him that he should have known that his friends will buy her something, anyway, turning their backs on his protests from doing so, especially since it's her birthday. Mingyu shrugs at that, but his head perks up from the stove, at the doorbell that kills their next words. He looks at Wonwoo at first, question at his eyes and spatula just about to reach for the frying pan again, and articulates that it's too early for Seoyeon to be home from school.

Mingyu excuses himself to get the door after turning the stove off and from the distance, Wonwoo hears a woman confirming that the man is, indeed, Kim Mingyu. It's a hesitant "Yes, I am" that barely travels throughout the apartment, and the "Please sign here, Kim Mingyu" makes it much louder. He listens to their parting goodbyes, to the dry slides over hardwood and the door creaking a close, to Mingyu yelling out a "Jeon Wonwoo" that rattles the apartment.

Wonwoo laughs out, feigns innocent of the situation. "What's wrong?"

"You know I told you not to get her presents," Mingyu pouts, holding up the box in front of him. "Jeon Wonwoo, international shipping...this must have cost a lot."

"Don't worry about it," before Mingyu thanks him.

\----

Every year, June never starts Wonwoo with welcoming arms. Each morning, he pours more coffee into his mug and even considers buying a thermos or three to keep his coffee cold and at a higher dosage than what his mornings can offer.

Drop-ins are too frequent that he takes quick bites of his lunch instead of being able to sit down and eat a full meal. Drop-ins are too frequent that he can't conjure up a single story to tell Seoyeon, and it all hurts his brain.

But what slows down the stress, sets the world revolving around him at the right speed, is the picture that Mingyu sends him one morning in the middle of revising vows, in the middle of the piling chaos.

Seoyeon caught frozen as she runs through a green field in the dress Wonwoo bought her, pokes of yellow and red flowers around her feet. Barely a cloud ruins the sky, scared off by the clear blue and solid bands of sunlight aiming right at Seoyeon. Her hair whips against the wind behind her, above the bow high at her back, and the sunlight from the picture breaks through the screen and warms his own heart. The swell burns constant and overwhelming when he spots the caption _Minghao let me borrow his camera to take this picture_.

\----

Hands over his face, Wonwoo takes deep breaths into the quiet. Drop-in clients knock on his door a few at a time, complain about having to wait in the heat because the waiting room inside is packed with clients looking for dresses and suits. Wonwoo grits his teeth as he nods through it all, apologizes for the wait, forces smile after smile as he pens down drafts of their vows.

When his stomach interrupts at least three of his clients from talking about their pasts, weddings, futures, Wonwoo hangs up the sign that he will be back in forty-five minutes.

Mingyu groans as he sits up, ruffles his hair, and Wonwoo apologizes for waking him up so early. "I didn't realize it's like four in the morning there.

Mingyu shakes his head, tells him it's okay. "What's wrong, Wonwoo?" low, groggy, awfully in need of sleep and awfully punching Wonwoo with regret for ringing Mingyu.

"I just wanted to relax," Wonwoo sighs, brain still loaded with clients to deal with after his break. He forces something, anything really, to take his mind over. "You said you wanted to visit New York, right?" 

Wonwoo watches Mingyu straighten his spine against the headboard, slump back even more, and dawn a sleepy smile. "How did you know?"

\----

Wonwoo gapes at the blue envelope that Sam passes over his desk, alongside a gentle greeting of "Happy birthday, Wonwoo," listens to his phone go off with every message flooding the group chat. Stamps litter and take over the entire right corner, and Wonwoo reads the _Kim Mingyu_ on the left.

He carefully tears the envelope open, pulls out a birthday card. Wonwoo musters a lazy grin at the orange cat sleeping on top a pile of books, with the words _Relax, Read, Repeat_ under in cursive. A simple _Happy birthday, Wonwoo! Enjoy your day and see you soon!_ with a sign-off of Mingyu's name.

A folded piece of pink construction paper hides behind the card. A lopsided flower takes up the front part of the pink card and inside, Seoyeon's penmanship looks better than some of his clients' writings.

_Happy birthday Uncle Wonwoo! I love you and I miss you. Eat this cake._

Wonwoo looks lower, discovers a sketch of a white rectangular cake with Wonwoo's name in blue. More flowers dot over the drawn fluffy icing, candles sticking out from the sides of the cake instead of on top. He spins in his seat, grabs a couple of thumbtacks, and hangs the cards on the wall, right beside the picture of the three of them at the ice rink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while since i've updated this :c school, work, and life in general decided to plot against me the past couple of months  
> i've never written wedding vows and i hope the ones i wrote are...half-decent. at least they convey the same message as conventional vows lmao. i hope everyone has been doing well!!


	9. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of warnings: jihye leaving is mentioned near the end. and my writing style has really gone downhill trust me on this so prepare your eyes!! it's more straight-to-the-point than previous chapters because i'm still trying to get back into writing after not writing for a while and my brain is not thinking the way i want it to :c  
>  **update 7/8: currently rewriting this chapter**  
>  **update 7/24: rewritten chapter posted. goodbye old chapter nine :'D it's almost a 1.5k-word difference from the previous version**

Wonwoo muses to himself that it’s because his birthday just passed without his boss even offering a greeting under his breath that landed him to agree on Wonwoo’s week-off in September. He thinks it’s a lousy reason, to throw the birthday greeting under the rug and display some half-hearted affection by not dropping a second to say yes. But Wonwoo will accept any blind excuse that releases him from his office and spend time with Mingyu and Seoyeon.

  


Wonwoo’s teeth grind together in a miserable tune into his ears when the client across the desk pauses a second, every few minutes, to drop her eyes down to his hands. He knows exactly what plagues her mind, and he won’t be surprised if she stands up before one of his sentences drains incomplete out his mouth, if she ruts the hardwood with the chair she’s sitting on to ask why Wonwoo is helping her for important words of marriage when he, himself, never professed any to anyone before, if she twists the ring in her own hand and asks Wonwoo where his ring is.

 _She’s just a drop-in,_ he meditates to himself. _You probably won’t see her again after this_.

Wonwoo should be used to all of this already--years of incessant strings of clients, colleagues, mere strangers prying him open to read into his flesh and bound him back up at the idea of marrying or at least dating, scowls among some of those when he denies that _no, I’m not in a relationship_ , the exasperated exhales hissing from others when they want to end the appointment without writing past a sentence. He should be used to all of this. But it still sends part of himself nearly losing his conscience of the pen in his hand, wiping some beading tears with the back of his palm, and fooling the person in front of him that he’s tired, the yawn is earned by hours of staying up and writing the last versions of proposals, instead of hours of wondering if everyone will be quiet if he gives in to their words and date someone.

She brings her eyes back up to the actual notebook and he wants to stop his eyes casting down at the falter of her tight-lipped smile. When Wonwoo asks for any final questions about her vows, he snaps her gaze off his hand and she replies with a hesitant “No, I don’t at the moment” that convinces Wonwoo otherwise. When she stands up, thanks him for his time and help, he almost gets away with it.

Almost. Because as he holds the door open for her to leave out of his periphery and, hopefully, his life, she scans out and around and asks where she can find his boss.

  


But Wonwoo doesn’t cut off meeting clients. He stays behind, even, when tales of love sear his heart broken for a tragedy he wishes never happened to anyone, prays never existed into reality. He stays past the hour posted in his office windows when the last client half-begs if it’s alright to stay in the lobby, instead of the dusty bench outside, where autumn winds begin to catch up to bare summer breezes. Wonwoo says it’s fine, since the bridal and suit shops offer fittings and tailoring past his own hours, and sits beside her on the couch, popping question after question about her significant other because time combusts at exactly six in the evening, forgets how to function every second after, and sends them to his closing hours earlier than he hoped for.

Her name is Ayu, which is not really her real name. It’s the name she prefers to go by because her real name is on the longer side, on the tongue-twister side of Wonwoo’s palate. But when Wonwoo hears her name from her own lips, tries to sound it out in his own, he smiles and thanks her for saying it for him, for not being shy at all to tell a beautiful name. He chimes in what she does while waiting for the bus because she must spend her time waiting a lot. If he has to wait for the bus, he would sit back in the bench with a book at hand; a worn-out paperback tapered with withering binds or blotchy drafts of vows waiting to be altered to the beauty of a white dress or clean-cut suit.

“I talk to my fiancé on the phone,” she replies as she twirls a loose string around her fingers until her skin bloats white. “When he can’t pick me up, he takes his breaks whenever I take the bus.” It all falls serene, Wonwoo’s heart finally beating softly into his chest, by talking to her. “I’m taking his break away, but he wants to know that I made it home safely, especially at night. I also want to know he's doing okay at work.”

Wonwoo pauses for a second, asks if she should be talking to him right now to comfort his anxieties of her whereabouts, of her safety. She shakes her head, dispels his doubts by messaging her fiancé that she will be running late, that the person helping her write her wedding vows is waiting for the arriving minute of the bus with her inside, rather than out in the dark.

The chatter stammers at her lips, when she pauses for the ringtone from her purse. She fishes out her phone, and he pretends to not read the heart emojis replacing a name on the screen. And she doesn’t lie; Wonwoo listens to her talk about her day and her wondering how work is going for her fiancé at the opposite end of the city. Wonwoo even says hi to him and he thanks Wonwoo for having such a service around, for sitting with her despite the later hours.

“They’ll be amazing, no doubt,” he assures when Wonwoo says the vows might need more work, another draft or two. “I just have to wait for my turn when I get my day off.”

Wonwoo bids he’ll be waiting for him, then, and to just give him a call for a time and day.

  


When bus lights fade off into the streets, blends in with the lampposts, Wonwoo heads back inside, tucks his laptop into his case, and gathers everything into his bag. Three knocks on the door leave his notebooks sprawled over the wood, and his heart stops, he swallows hard, at his boss slipping his head through the crack. He ventures for time to talk, since he knows it’s way past the six o’clock Wonwoo supposes is his last hour of the work day, but Wonwoo’s lips are telling him no, knowing exactly what this talk will be about.

“It’s the third complaint this week, Wonwoo,” his boss sighs, clasps and unclasps the buttons at his wrist, as if the entire situation pits him in anxiety more than it does to Wonwoo.

He’s tired of it, his own heart beaten hard with a stick for hot beating hard for someone else. “Why do they care?” Wonwoo finally lashes out without thinking this through, barely trips past the wheels of his chair at the sound of his voice so rough at his ears. “They’re in this for the vows, not for my love life.”

Wonwoo’s breathing blares into his ears, hollows out a possible “You’re fired, Wonwoo,” and it sends a sharp inhale down his throat, burns all the way down. As much as Wonwoo mentally fights back the words on a regular basis, he loves sinking into the chair of his office to pen down words of promise, vows of forever, in ways the person walking in would never have thought of. But the tears don’t stop when his boss begins his way out and before closing the door, resolves, instead, that he’ll “make sure those clients won’t be coming back.”

It smacks him straight at his chest. He listens to the sniped sobs of comfort overdue, at his boss not advising him to solve the problem by finding someone to date, that Wonwoo _isn’t_ the problem. Because the one person who witnessed Wonwoo stand through clients since he stepped foot into this business, always hinting at Wonwoo finding someone but never glaring at his bare hand, finally hints at some acceptance, some words biting back into his throat and clearing up his mind.

\----

August shoves another sign plastered on his window, warning passersby that he will only be accepting drop-ins for the rest of the month. He knows it will put his work off the loop of the norm, especially since September slaps him with a planner full of appointments, but for the eight years or so he’s been doing this, more clients come in without making an appointment than those who really do. He finds it odd, really.

  


Wonwoo should accept the greeter’s offer for a Disney store membership when he finds the same cashier scanning items at the register. He pushes himself to wave at her this time and at the flash of eye contact, she waves back and welcomes him with both hands in the air, a bounce of her ponytail swinging, that holds a lot more enthusiasm than the cashier next to her having to ring up two baskets.

Wonwoo grabs a basket, weaves into where kitchen supplies raid the wall and it’s a smooth trip while everyone else is clawing for Disney-themed pencils, erasers, notebooks. He cups his hand over his mouth at a gasp, blinks hard to make sure his eyes aren’t failing him and the section dedicated for chopsticks is physical and real between his fingers. He picks something from each princess and he starts a game where he only puts an item in his basket if he knows the name of the princesses and characters on it. So he grabs a glass bowl of Ariel swimming to the rim, examines a Jasmine plate with her on a flying carpet and Aladdin on-board the magic carpet ride.

The cashier treads a guess that everything in Wonwoo’s basket is for his niece again and when he answers that “Yes, everything is for my niece,” she offers to wrap them all for him. As he cards through the basket of pajamas and kitchenware, “How much would it be?”

“Nothing.” From the desk behind her, she pulls out a roll of princess wrapping paper and goes back to scanning everything in his basket. “Honestly, the stuff here is expensive, even when I get an employee discount, and you buy way more than I do.”

Wonwoo stands outside the worktable, besides the edge of the front counter, and eases his worries of if this is okay, will her manager get mad at her? As if she’s ignoring him, she tapes up the first gift box with Aurora pajamas. But she hasn’t been ignoring Wonwoo. Not when she slips in a couple of discount cards into his bags.

  


Out of the store, inching closer to the railings where he lowers his chances of bumping into people and dropping everything, he debates whether or not he should buy something for Mingyu from the department store in the mall, to give him a fresh set of bath towels, toothbrush, blankets. But he knows Mingyu will be fine with whatever Wonwoo has around his apartment.

He messages Mingyu to ask if he should buy Seoyeon a car seat, but Mingyu responds with a picture of the inside of his car, with the gray car seat smothered in Disney stickers. Wonwoo also shoots a text if it’s okay to drill holes into the edges of the loft bed. Aimless walking lands him between a designer purse store and an exit to the parking lot until his toes skitter, regaining the grip of the bag, as Mingyu calls him and demands what he’s drilling holes for.

“I want to drill railings around the bed so Seoyeon won’t fall off,” Wonwoo explains, rolling his eyes and not even bothering to ask why else he would drill holes for.

Especially not after Mingyu deadpans a, “Oh, thank you.”

\----

The second week of September whips air at his face in slow motion this time. He’s glad for the tone-down of the weather, no struggles to throw layers on or off or sometimes both throughout a single day or in a long span of two hours. The balloons tied to a weighted house figurine the size of his palm won’t survive if the nature orders for stronger winds.

Through second-gaps of Wonwoo passing the house back and forth in his hands, he swipes his palms over his jeans, curses that he shouldn’t be this nervous to meet Mingyu and Seoyeon again. It’s New York at the bottoms of his feet, not Seoul chiding back bad memories whenever he learns a new thing about someone he cares about. He reminds himself that Mingyu is his best friend, the same person who still held onto his hand like a lifeline when he waited for the e-mail that landed him across the ocean and beyond, the same best friend he had to wipe his nose for when winter wasn’t exactly kind to their immune systems. He also knocks some sense into himself that Seoyeon is his best friend’s daughter, his niece who woke the moonlight out of him every morning during his vacation, who shies at first meetings just as much as he does.

But his mind tortures him, prefixes each one of his memories with Seoyeon waking up the morning Wonwoo left for the airport. Without a story to share that morning before she headed to school, no glasses perched on the nightstand, only to find Mingyu on the bed. Will she hate him for actually leaving, now that she will actually see him in person? Because pixels can’t capture what warmth and tears, eyes falling down a physical figure can.

His thoughts skip to the house pooling some sweat at the undersides, sticky and slippery, hoping it will dry by the wind passing into his fingers. He would have never guessed to use a toy house to keep the balloons steady if it wasn’t for the cashier. He should know her name by now, since she always comes up with an idea that saves him at the last minute. Just an hour ago, he looked up what to bring when waiting for someone at the airport. He finds chocolate and flowers on the bland side of the gift spectrum, and he throws out the idea of drawing a poster. He wants to ruin the idea of his own drawings, period, because he can’t pick up a sketchbook to save his life.

So there he is, in the middle of arrivals, gripping onto the tiny house in his fist, as if the weighted house weighs absolutely everything. Red and blue Mickey Mouse-shaped balloons encased inside clear rubber, heart aluminums with a gathering of Disney princesses printed on both sides and ready to fight.

Wonwoo hopes that Seoyeon will, at least, understand the reference.

_11:22_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Am i really in new york??_

_11:25_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Is this real?_

_11:27_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Did you land already?_

_11:27_

**_Mingyu_ **

_No we're still in seoul_

_11:28_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Turn on your location_

_11:35_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Mingyu..._

_Kim Mingyu..._

**_Kim Mingyu_ ** _turned on location tracking._

_11:37_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_KIM MINGYU YOU LIAR_

_Message me when you're heading to the arrivals gate_

It’s white bashing through gray all over his eyes when Wonwoo reaches out to catch his phone and the house at his palms, when something hits every part of his body below his chest. He tightens the hold on his phone and the house, at a long stretch of black hair, the white headband resting on the crown of her head, at Seoyeon peering up to Wonwoo with her chin tucked into his stomach. Wonwoo trades off his phone and the house of balloons to one hand, to pave a palm down the length of her hair past her shoulders. Her teeth are searching for the perfect spots; her two front teeth leave a tiny gap in the middle, but he’s sure the space will close with time.

“I think you got taller, Seoyeon,” Wonwoo coos, brushing strands from her face and cupping her cheek once her hair settles. Still heated from the quick run, baby pink blooming out of her exhales. Wonwoo’s finger stuck on her shoulder, he twirls the end of the bow at the back of her dress. He steps back, hand lingering on her shoulder, to the dress Sam suffered hours with Wonwoo to pick out. The end dangles at her knees, where a few healing scars and bruises paint parts of her skin some tones darker, and he’s proud that the dress gives her enough room to run around and slam her entire body into him. “And even prettier, too. How is that possible?” Wonwoo bends down, brings her into his arms, and lets her choke him in a hug. From up close, Seoyeon’s eyelashes curl longer than Mingyu’s and her cheeks give away some of the fat he used to pinch off.

Wonwoo’s eyes land on Mingyu not long after. He unzips the leather jacket Wonwoo bought him for Christmas, smug smirk on his face as Wonwoo passes the house of balloons to Seoyeon. Her chin digs into his neck, tilts up to a cheer that escapes when she mentions that it’s just like the house from _Up_.

“That’s because she’s my daughter.”

  


Mingyu crouches at the shoe rack to arrange their shoes. Wonwoo pushes his shoulders to get him to stand up, unrelenting at Mingyu’s need for the shoes to stand in a pattern Wonwoo’s brain can’t catch onto. Seoyeon steals this opportunity to run up the stairs to his loft bed and hop onto the mattress, sheets fluffing into the air not as soft as hearing her giggles in person. Her eyes count each of the books on the residing bookshelf, remnants of the numbers at her lips when she reaches half of the shelves.

Wonwoo drags their bags towards the coffee table as Mingyu lingers at the desk displaying Wonwoo’s collection of pictures yet to be hung in his office. Once he steps closer, his fingers slide print over print, eyes diluting tugs of a sad smile. Perhaps Mingyu finally understands the distance that pictures close up but not quite. A single second of life captured into eternity can be held in his own hands from an ocean away, but Wonwoo would walk for an eternity across the ocean if it meant being part of the picture.

Mingyu’s head snaps up, though, breaks away from his thoughts, when Wonwoo walks up to the desk. It’s all pictures of his friends, family, and friends’ families that Minghao discovered buried in the wrong folders of his phone. Mingyu goes straight to his luggage at the coffee table to yank out a paper bag and hand it to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo winces at the dry tear as teeth of zippers bite into the bag.

Two moleskine notebooks square off in the same size as the one Wonwoo barges the stationary section for, and he wonders how Mingyu knows exactly what he likes. The planner looks just like the notebook, except for the golden _2032-2033 Planner_ inscribed in the front. And Mingyu tops it all off with a photo album following the same design. He leafs through once to get a sense of what his eyes will be indulging into for the next hour.

Wonwoo staring at the clouds painting windows during a car ride. Arches of cherry blossoms, naked of any hues for the winter season, gears his memory back to Changwon. Wonwoo props his chin on his palm, corner of his elbow pressed to the window, and Wonwoo troubles himself into what jogged his mind at that exact moment.

Wonwoo’s fingers branching over Seoyeon’s back as she sleeps on top of him. It’s his childhood blanket that takes over the two of them and stops short at his shoulders.

Two silhouettes standing in front of chromatic water show, gushes stop at the black figures. When Wonwoo squints closer to the picture, he recognizes the outline of Soonyoung’s cap when they hugged each other one last time before the last time.

Seoyeon smiles brighter than the white dress Wonwoo bought for her. Besides her, Mingyu holds her hand, matching her white-and-blue dress with white shorts and a blue collared shirt. They must be in Anyang, the home Mingyu’s heart knows best away from his current home in Seoul, hints of the shop-stacked city raining down below the balcony. The same shops Mingyu dragged Wonwoo into during one of their spring breaks.

A view of the Statue of Liberty at night plants itself behind Junhui and Minghao. They pose just like her, hands raised with no flame to hold. The caption on the bottom, Wonwoo easily spots as Minghao’s delicate hands, _Someday, Wonwoo_.

A hand in a peace sign suspends in front of a computer screen. Wonwoo knows close to nothing about the color-coded shocks in in rows, but he knows for sure that it’s some audio. Maybe a song Jihoon worked on when this picture was taken, a song he’s still working on to this day. Wonwoo needs to write a mental note to ask Jihoon all about it someday.

Seokmin squats in front of Soonyoung, slender hands flattened in front of him as if telling someone beyond the shot to stop at their tracks. Soonyoung points off in the distance. In the next picture, it’s all clear to Wonwoo who they were looking at. In the next frame, with Seoyeon perched on Seokmin’s shoulders, Soonyoung keeps a hand on her back and leaves his other hand still pointing somewhere far off the scene.

Seungcheol pricks the tears in his eyes, a still frame of his smile trying not to break, as he reaches a hand over his wife’s resting on her stomach. In the back, he catches Soonyoung and Seokmin imitating Seungcheol’s other hand over his eyes and slight pout, Junhui and Minghao clapping at the other side, and Mingyu with his hand on Seungcheol’s back.

Wonwoo asks what’s going on in this picture, why is Seungcheol crying, because misinterpretation is the last thing he wants to do. Mingyu sighs wistful, for the picture or for the same memory, “It’s when Yujin revealed she’s pregnant.”

  


Wonwoo scratches the back of his head and once their luggage rests against the couch to be opened and organized tomorrow into the wooden drawer he bought out of impulse, “I figured you and Seoyeon can take the bed.”

But Wonwoo’s arrangements prove to be useless when the three of them lie on the bed, Seoyeon wedged between Wonwoo and Mingyu, because she wants “to sleep with Daddy and Uncle Wonwoo on the floating bed together.” Wonwoo sits next to the nightstand with his laptop open, skims through wedding vows he promised to read after the week is over. Behind him, Seoyeon yelps something short of a playful giggle and full-on plead for her dad to stop whatever he’s doing.

Wonwoo peeks over his shoulder, to Mingyu dragging Seoyeon’s palm under his chin, scratching the stubble growing there. Dry bristles of hard hair against baby skin and Mingyu never fails to make Wonwoo wince by the sounds he produce.

“It’s itches, Daddy,” Seoyeon cries through a breathless laugh, and Wonwoo wants to pull her away from Mingyu’s grasp, after noticing pinks of her eyes and barely-hanging on tears welling at the rims. But she snatches her hand in an instant and crawls across the mattress. She chokes Wonwoo again at the pressure around his neck when Seoyeon stands on the space under his crossed legs, blocking his view from the vows, and leans into him, protecting herself from Mingyu inching closer and closer to her.

Wonwoo secures an arm around her back and waits for her to wrap her arms around his shoulders before he stands up, carrying her with him down the stairs. At floor-level, Mingyu follows behind him in a snail’s race as Wonwoo rounds the kitchen, groans against the coffee table knocking into his shin, attempts not to trip on left-open carriers that Wonwoo suggested to fix after some sleep.

Mere minutes pass when Wonwoo pants into the air and Seoyeon’s grip loosens against his neck. His heart beats hard into his ears more at the concern of dropping her because his body surrenders to the extra weight and effort than the ache marking permanent in his legs. Mingyu gathers Seoyeon up from Wonwoo’s arms once he notices the lag of Wonwoo’s runaway. They find themselves back on the bed, Seoyeon tipping off the last adrenaline highs of their chase.

Her arms and legs wipe the mattress, forming a blanket angel that erases each time she wants to imprint the shape into the sheets again. “I like this bed, Uncle Wonwoo.”

“I designed it, Seoyeon,” Mingyu adds with a flair of pride, confidence sparking his eyes. If he wasn’t lying down, Wonwoo knows Mingyu would have flipped his fringe away from his eyes in arrogance that would earn a punch.

“Why isn’t our house like this?” Seoyeon pouts, halts the rebirth of her blanket angel. “I want a floating bed, too.”

Mingyu shakes his head and shares a glance with Wonwoo, submitting down the fact they wouldn’t want to risk Seoyeon tripping down the stairs if she ever has one of these loft beds. “When you get older, I’ll design one for your house, okay?” Mingyu rolls over on top of Seoyeon, traps her under his arms, to brush strands sticking close to her eyes. Seoyeon jabs a finger at Mingyu’s nose and he rolls off with a rumbling, nasal, “Ouch.” He rubs his nose, pokes his fingers at Seoyeon’s side that earns a barrel of laughs. “I still have the model of your apartment somewhere.”

  


Midnight can’t strike Seoyeon tired, but revising vows at this hour does for Wonwoo every time. When he yawns for the third time in a span of a few minutes, Mingyu tells Seoyeon to lie down and keep her voice quiet for her Uncle Wonwoo.

“It’s okay, I need to work on this,” Wonwoo tries to ease their disquiet, gesturing at his laptop and the long paragraphs of _only_ how the couple met around five years ago.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Mingyu turns to Seoyeon, tugs the blanket up to her chin, and starts patting her stomach.

Any word falls mute between Mingyu and Wonwoo and they don’t mind, not when Seoyeon passes out shortly after Wonwoo coaxes a melody that sleep yearns for and her hair curls all over his pillow. Wonwoo decides it’s time to stash his laptop away, settles down next to Seoyeon when Mingyu asks if he’s feeling sleepy.

\----

Wonwoo balances Seoyeon on his shins, holds onto her hands tighter as he lifts his heels up and she starts to slide off, lower and lower above his body. Whenever her body threatens to fall off, he lowers his heels, brings her sliding right back down before bouncing her. She squeals into the early hours, alarm clock drilling fresh in his morning, until Wonwoo decides to leave his heels up and watch her slip down, fall into Wonwoo’s chest. And his arms don’t waste a second to wrap around her back when she presses her face onto his chest. Familiarity for the feeling surging his heart finally meets him after so long, the ache of having no one he trusts in his arms dissipating once Seoyeon hugs his chest.

Seoyeon robs the chance of Wonwoo kissing the top of her head a good morning when she scrambles free from his arms and throws the blanket over both of them. He never minds it, though, how the blanket never gets far enough to cover Wonwoo’s wiggling toes or rising inhales.

“Uncle Wonwoo,” she peeps up from the sheets caving away from her eyes. Wonwoo catches that it’s actually nowhere near the morning hours when he spots his wall clock blinking past three in the afternoon. “Can you tell me a story?”

Wonwoo cranes his head up to the ceiling, expecting some story to play out perfectly in his mind, perhaps bleed from the apartment one story above him. The view of neighboring high rises offers him a simple story. “There’s this one man who doesn’t like the city life after living in one for most of his life. He is always busy. The city life is always busy--everyone wants to be heard in the silent room, there are more lights coming from cellphones than store signs and apartment windows, dinner becomes the only time a family gathers together around the same table. So the man leaves the city. He goes somewhere far from the city, to a small village where he owns a cottage.

“He goes there near the end of summer and when he passes by the lake, he always sees something moving among the cattails.” Wonwoo glances down at Seoyeon knitting her eyebrows together. “Seoyeon, do you know what cattails are?”

Seoyeon shakes her head beneath the sheets and when a jab crushes at his ribs like a feather, Wonwoo pulls the blanket off. Daytime’s brightness, Wonwoo’s morning face, or the missing cotton warmth elicits a shriek and Wonwoo catches Seoyeon tugging of a stray string from his shirt. “I know the cat from the uncle next door has a fluffy tail.”

After he explains that cattails look more like corn dogs standing next to a lake, he continues to set the story behind Seoyeon’s eyes. “The man goes over a bridge near the cattails and tries to look down, to find whatever is moving, but he sees nothing.”

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu calls from the bathroom. Wonwoo bids the story a pause for now to stalk Mingyu into the bathroom. Wonwoo nudges a toe at the ajar door and it eases into Mingyu standing in front of the sink, boring tired eyes to the mirror, with a slight pout. “Can I borrow some shaving cream?”

Wonwoo glances from Mingyu’s eyes at the mirror, to his bed hair rocking side to side, to the actual short pricks of hair under Mingyu’s chin. It can never reach a beard nor is it exactly unnoticeable; it might be that way because Wonwoo missed the step in his morning routine where he puts his glasses on. “Why?”

“I’m going to shave my stubble before Seoyeon starts crying.”

Wonwoo opens the cabinet behind the mirror, albeit after calming his stomach down and regaining even breathing at the thought of Mingyu getting rid of all the hair on his chin to stop torturing Seoyeon, rather than to stop taking Seoyeon’s hand. “I’m thinking about going to the Disney store.”

At the crack of “Disney,” Wonwoo drops a groan as Seoyeon collides into the backs of his legs and wraps her arms around his waist, when Wonwoo barely scrapes by as Mingyu lifts the razor to his beard of shaving cream. He regains his balance once he plants a firm hand on the sink. Wonwoo picks her up in his arms, promises her that they will go to the Disney store if she eats breakfast first.

  


A glass arch of flowers leads them to a full-body mirror for those with bodies shorter than Wonwoo and Mingyu. The mirror reflects anywhere lower than Wonwoo’s neck and Mingyu nudges Wonwoo at the ribs, reminds him that this section, this _entire_ store specializes in merchandise for little kids, about movies aimed generally towards little kids.

They sit at the short bench just opposite of the mirror, hopefully not disturbing the statue of a cartoon squirrel near the edge staring up at Wonwoo and into his soul. He elbows Mingyu, points at the squirrel from _Bambi_ , and Mingyu sends wide eyes and a choke right at Wonwoo, never forgetting the slap at Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo covers himself with his arms to defend himself from following slaps, but the deceiving laughter dies down once Seoyeon steps in front of the mirror with a baby blue ball gown.

Her hair drifts past her waist, now that Mingyu had the chance to comb out all the tangles and braids from yesterday. She twirls in her Converse, fluffy tufts of the dress circling around her feet before lilting to a stop at her ankles. Mingyu holds up his phone, takes a few pictures of her spinning in the dress when he asks her to do it again. Wonwoo ponders about standing up and guiding her to a slow dance, thoughts bringing the dance to him being the one to twirl her.

But she zips back into the dressing room when her eyes land on a boy in a prince costume captivated by her, foot against the step and about to walk up to the mirror. Wonwoo doesn’t know which prince, though, and chuckles at the awkward meeting.

Mingyu’s voice pleads not that far off into the future, “You know, she’ll grow out of them really fast.”

“I know, but let her have her moment.” Wonwoo wishes the day Seoyeon gets over her phase of Disney princesses is too far down the road that he can’t see the end. He glances at Seoyeon shooting out of the dressing room and to the wall of Tsum Tsums, pulling down squishy beans in her hands.

“I meant her height-wait, Seoyeon,” and Mingyu bolts off the seat, hurries over to Seoyeon piling three on her head, “just pick one thing you like.”

“No, let her pick all the things she wants,” Wonwoo urges, plucking the Tsum Tsums from her hand and stacking them in the basket hanging from his elbow. He kneels down, though, at Seoyeon’s shoelaces dangling and loose shoes on the verge of popping off at a slight shift for a step.

Mingyu follows Wonwoo, reaches for the basket, but Wonwoo pauses tying Seoyeon’s shoelaces to drag the basket further away from his grasp. “Don’t listen to Uncle Wonwoo, Seoyeon.”

“Listen to Uncle Wonwoo, Seoyeon.”

She contemplates the Tsum Tsums in the basket, bottom lip perked up and eyes bouncing from one plushie to the one above it and, one by one, returns them to the shelf. Wonwoo is close to asking Seoyeon if she’s sure about not getting anything until a palm-sized blue Tsum Tsum settles in her cupped hands. “I want Stitch only.”

Wonwoo gestures for the stuffed beans on the shelf behind them, nearly a third of her height, begging to be bought and held by Seoyeon. “What about this big one, Seoyeon? It can be a pillow. Or maybe you can hug it while you sleep.”

As Wonwoo skips a corner, he sneaks a set of New York Tsum Tsums for Seoyeon into the basket, of Minnie Mouse doused in green as the Statue of Liberty and Mickey Mouse as one of those typical travelers visiting her in his _I Love NY_ shirt. But as he lifts the basket up to the front counter, he swats Mingyu’s hand away when he tries to return Minnie Mouse into the shelf.

“Let me spoil her this one time,” Wonwoo solidifies with a “Yeah, this is all,” to the cashier.

“But you always spoil her,” Mingyu whines, hand still gripping the basket.

“Did you want me to spoil you, too?” Wonwoo teases, dropping a pair of Minnie Mouse ears on the counter. Navy blue ears with a white bow nested in the middle, lined with sequences. In white cursive against blue, _New York_ repeats itself over the ears.

Mingyu tosses a second headband into the basket. “You have to wear it with me, then.”

“You’re still the best uncle,” Wonwoo hears, and his neck strains at a short degree of whiplash when he notices the same cashier from all his other visits.

  


Mingyu pats his stomach as they fix chairs on Wonwoo’s balcony, invites the moon to join in on their conversation into the night. Lamplights flicker to a loose beat below their fingertips, deep under their grips on the railing, craves for the unwavering ring of moonlight. The wind passes a quiet whistle and Mingyu says the weather here seems warmer than back at home.

There are no words held back between the two of them. Night greets them without a drop of sweat or slit of a shiver, the wind never hushes them back inside, and they completely forget about the glasses of water on the foldable table. Mingyu lights up when he reveals the three interviews waiting for him at Seoul, after his vacation. One of which is to rebuild the university’s old building, to modernize it into the standards that accompany the growth of technology, the country’s relentless advancement to and for the future.

“It’s sad knowing it’ll be gone. We always ran to it when it rained, remember? Minghao scolded us for not bringing an umbrella while he stood nice and dry under his.”

Wonwoo hums, sad, throat-smothering sound that settles in all the wrong ways out his mouth. He drags a hand over his face--from the stress Mingyu must be in to carry the foundation of a new start, the edifice that stored a lot of his rainy day memories, how long ago since he first stepped into the new building. Wonwoo doesn’t know why his shoulders suddenly push him down heavier, why the moon’s offer of less lonesome light glares too bright against his glasses.

\----

A rhythm of muffling cloth wakes Wonwoo up from his dreams. Black freezes to white mornings, sun-kissed skin melting his pale bedsheets. He turns and it’s Mingyu patting a palm over Seoyeon’s back, lying on his side and an arm propping his head above the pillow.

Wonwoo lies on his ribs and hips, too, to brush strands off her face that must be tickling her nose as she breathes, maybe lurking into her dreams, too. He lowers his voice, in worries she might stir from her peaceful slumber. “Anything you want to do today?” Ever since Wonwoo and Mingyu settled on a date to meet again, they never exactly settled any plans on what they will be doing in New York, and Wonwoo never bothered to fill that part of his vacation. Wonwoo keeps in mind of Mingyu’s desire to visit the state, but Mingyu keeps to himself of what he actually wants to do once he sets foot in the new country.

Mingyu shrugs, stops his rubs for a moment. “Can we visit your work?”

  


Wonwoo forgets, just for this week, how lonely he truly is and it smacks him in the center of it all once he arrives in the parking lot to his office. An occasion where he introduces someone other than a client to his colleagues never stepped foot in Wonwoo’s life. The only time he ever ate at a restaurant or cafe, requesting a table for more than one, only arise when clients or coworkers ask to meet and eat somewhere other than his office. And it’s not as if he ever considered inviting anyone to his apartment before. Wonwoo is bringing in people he holds close to his life into his work life, to expose both halves that comprises everything from the moment he wakes up, throws himself onto the mattress, and everything in between and around.

So it’s no surprise to him when the three are bombarded with unflitting eyes, loosening jaws when they walk into the doors before Wonwoo’s office. Seoyeon skips in her steps between him and Mingyu, holding a hand of each and blinking up at the chandelier illuminating both of them better than sunlight through windows.

Sam greets Wonwoo a good morning first before doing the same to Mingyu and Seoyeon, brushing aside the way Mingyu’s lips drift for a question that can’t be answered by anyone he just met. She kneels down to Seoyeon’s eyes, waves a hand, and asks what her name is.

“My name is Kim Seoyeon.” A scowl relaxing and reforming at the foreign language, bouts of hesitation that flirts with her voice pitches higher, and she buries her face into Mingyu’s stomach.

“When did Seoyeon learn English?” Mingyu side-eyes Wonwoo as his coworkers gawk at the switch in language, the way Mingyu rakes his fingers through his hair, the smirk Mingyu teases Wonwoo with, and the drop of Wonwoo’s voice once he switches over to a language that settles better at his tongue.

Wonwoo shrugs, leaves his coworkers watching them. Sam stands back up after handing Seoyeon a paper bag the size of Wonwoo’s palm, and Seoyeon destroys the ocean of languages when she releases Wonwoo’s hand to shake the chocolate chip cookie in the air. The cheer off her mouth is contagious, and he finds even the most stern-faced coworkers cracking the façade with a tiny slip of their guard.

Wonwoo introduces Mingyu and Seoyeon to each one in front and behind the receptionist’s desk, basking more minutes at the clock for Wonwoo to mention how Sam agreed to be dragged to the mall and find the dress for Seoyeon. Mingyu’s mouth falls open and he envelopes Sam’s hand in his, shaking it with so much force that Sam’s shoulders bob at the syllables at every one of Mingyu’s shy, accented, “Thank you so much.”

It’s a hand over both of Mingyu’s that sends him to stop gyrating his new friend he met not even an hour ago. Sam asks Wonwoo if it’s possible to translate, and he stalks each one of her words of how her daughter is only a couple years older than Seoyeon, that buying a dress for her feels just like buying a dress for her daughter. Mingyu beams at every word Wonwoo beats to break the language barrier, finishes off with another string of thank you’s as Sam says it’s not a problem at all.

  


It’s only the third day of his vacation week and it drains some coaxing out of Wonwoo that he’s not here to work, to take any clients for the day, for the rest of the week. That walking into his office, today, isn’t dedicated for scheduling appointments or calling in clients, like any other day. Everyone tries their best to convey how nice it was to meet Mingyu and Seoyeon when Wonwoo turns his back to talk to someone, that they should drop by again when they get the chance, to show Seoyeon the bridal shop while they’re still here. It’s someone rushing from the second floor to bring down a dress for Seoyeon to try, a necktie that compliments the blush on Mingyu’s cheeks when Wonwoo translates that they think he’s handsome, an extra bag of a chocolate chip cookie that Sam sneaks into Seoyeon’s hands.

Wonwoo appreciates it, he really does, but the bridal and suit sections of the entire building are not where spends a solid fraction of his life, of his entire time away from home. He guides them to the door across the receptionist’s desk, with Wonwoo’s name and a closed sign collecting dust at the window. He refuses to open the blinds in his office, knowing how some people won’t read signs and believe he’s still accepting drop-in clients. Perhaps they’ll believe Mingyu is one of them.

Mingyu strides around the near-perimeters of Wonwoo’s office, stops his steps at the wall of books as he leads Seoyeon to the wall of pictures with newly-weds. Mingyu’s mouth hangs open at the scatter-plot of pictures that invades one side of Wonwoo’s office, and the numbers register in Wonwoo’s brain that there are a lot of them. The fact never hits Wonwoo, how many pictures are showcased in his office, until Seoyeon counts and gives up while she’s still pointing down one wall and some pictures are still left uncounted for.

Mingyu whispers something to Seoyeon, only to gasp and repeat the number forty-three, “You helped all of these people?”

“Those are just the clients’ weddings I attended,” Wonwoo explains. He spots the picture of Linh and Peter still waiting for him on his desk. He gestures for the bookshelf, to the rows of binders with drafted and finalized vows; overwhelmed with pages that bathed in sunlight and lamplight in a matter of hours, scribbles that left some pieces stabbed in ink, rips from careless whips from one draft to another. “But these are the vows I helped write.”

Seoyeon wiggles out of Mingyu’s hold when her eyes lead her off to a different wall, behind the wooden desk. It’s the wall with faces she actually knows and can recognize with her eyes shut, and Mingyu is about to pick her up and tell her not to run in here until his mind whirrs and can place a name with a face. Wonwoo pulls out two cans of soda and a pouch of juice from his fridge, pops the straw in for Seoyeon, and opens the can for Mingyu when he makes it behind them.

Mingyu does pick her up, though, to point under each face and ask her “Who is this uncle?” when it’s Junhui jumping over a wave in the ocean. “What about this uncle?” when it’s Seungcheol down on one knee in front of Yujin biting back her tears with a smile. “Who is this scary uncle?” when it’s a picture of Wonwoo squinting as Seoyeon tries to keep his glasses upright at her nose.

“Uncle Wonwoo is not scary!” is her answer, flooded in giggles that floods the room.

The pictures occupy all of Seoyeon’s thoughts as Mingyu asks him, “Are we bothering your work? Is there someone you should be meeting right now?”

Wonwoo gears his eyes away from the packets of instant coffee above his fridge. One thing Wonwoo learned during his time at home is to blank out his entire schedule, to refuse his work when it interfered with time he promised for himself. “I cleared up my schedule before your flight here” elicits a bashful duck of Mingyu’s head into his daughter’s hair.

  


After a dinner that comprises mostly of searching whatever ingredients seem to work when tossed together, Mingyu and Seoyeon sit at the kitchen table, Seoyeon counting with her fingers as Mingyu sketches something on scratch paper. It’s Seoul all over again, when Seoyeon wanted to speed through her homework before finding out what souvenirs are, without the familiar air and people that made New York seem more than an ocean away in Wonwoo’s memory.

“How did you do that?” Wonwoo asks once he steals the spot next to Mingyu. He squints down at the drawing of Manhattan Bridge, crosshatches of the night making the entire suspension light up the white sticky note.

The pencil halts darkening a shade as Mingyu glances at Wonwoo, to his drawing, to Seoyeon, back at Wonwoo. “What? The drawing or the math?”

“Both.”

At that second, Seoyeon raises her pencil in the air, announces that she’s done. She slides the paper over to Mingyu to check her work and she trades her paper for the sketch of the bridge. Her own graphite fades into the scenery Mingyu already sketched, shading in tones the drawing had out for her. Wonwoo barely gets close to solving the first addition problem before Mingyu checks off the entire row, and he groans at Mingyu turning the page over and writing more problems, long strings of numbers to add and subtract.

Wonwoo’s spine gives into gravity and he sinks into the chair with a hand over his eyes to make the math disappear, motivation to try solving the new problems deflating at Mingyu sliding the paper back over to Seoyeon’s side of the table. “I think she deserves a break,” Wonwoo mumbles into the dark of his digits.

  


Once Seoyeon’s hair dries and sleep knocks her soundless on the bed, Mingyu scrolls long into the past of his phone, to a video with Seoyeon’s short frays on her scalp, skin still longing for tan tinges of the present Seoyeon, delicate fingernails probing into her nostril. The water rises up to her stomach and she smacks a palm on the water, squeals under tiled walls as it splashes her face. There’s a loud squeak to cut the faucet off when it reaches just above her belly button, over the chubby puff of her stomach. It takes a moment for Wonwoo to recognize Mingyu’s voice calling out to Seoyeon, all helium-pitched and lowering just a slight at the ends of her name. Seoyeon looks up and blinks blankly at Mingyu, and her smile peels into a couple of her teeth back at him.

Wonwoo estimates Seoyeon as a few weeks old by the way the blanket rolls her entire body and how Mingyu’s finger is as long as her face. When he graces a fingertip on her fist, her fingers loop around his, and Wonwoo listens to the serene “I love you, Seoyeon.” A faint quirk of lips on Seoyeon passes before it flattens and she seems to fall back asleep.

Seoyeon holds snacks in both of her hands and she leans back, mouth caught in mid-song. Mingyu watches from the corner of the picture, at the end of the couch. The side of his face, near-slap of his hands together hint that he must have been singing along, too, if not providing the music for her.

Seoyeon rides a tricycle, but rubber shoes peep against the sidewalk as she struggles to push the pedal. Her foot slips and she stomps the ground, Mingyu’s laugh whipping stronger against the air when Seoyeon looks up at him with a blank face, expecting him to help her move the bike a few centimeters forward. A long wave of black hair blurs into the screen before the video is cut off.

A frozen shot of Seoyeon sitting up on the chair in the airplane, a big set of headphones slipping past her ears. The headphones can’t even hold up the entirety of the video because her head is too small for a secure grip. She stares far off in front of her, perhaps to the screen ahead of her.

A video brings the entire picture into motion, of Seoyeon leaning left and right as she watches the video in front of her, lips parted and eyes never surrendering a blink. The headphones slip off once and she nudges it back up twice, first with her shoulder and the second with the help of Mingyu’s hand. The video pans to the movie, past the flash of an open window, and Wonwoo squints at the ants from _A Bug’s Life_. He thinks not a single insect can scare Seoyeon. Mingyu calls her name, short of a whisper and is interrupted by Minghao scoffing, “She’s not going to look at you.”

A pouch of jelly juice slowly approaches Seoyeon and when Mingyu taps the corner of the pouch against her hand, she flinches, stirs from the movie enough to look down at her father’s hand. Her short digits slowly grasp the juice pack and she beams up at Mingyu with an open smile that holds a narrowing gap of her baby teeth. A quiet “Thank you, Daddy” from her wrenches at his heart. Her voice is much lighter, so shy.

“She’s my daughter, Minghao. I know how to get her to look at me.” Wonwoo imagines Minghao rolling his eyes as Mingyu gives him a grin of satisfaction he wishes he can slap off his face if only they weren’t friends for so long.

The couch stretches much wider with Seoyeon alone among the cushions and Mingyu sitting on the floor, at the other side of the living room, sketchbook on his lap. A graphite outline of her figure on the page and the resemblance and accuracy convinces him of Mingyu copying and pasting her into the page. Each picture he swipes through has Mingyu tilting his head one way, tip of pencil going for a different plot of the paper. After five pictures, Seoyeon’s head moves to the side and Mingyu’s pencil doesn’t long for his sketchbook anymore. Instead, his eyes blow open, mouth punched in a smile that no one can close off, eyebrows arched, at Seoyeon discovering him. The next frame has her caught in a fit of laughter, eyes disappearing in the smile mirroring her father’s, and hands clutching the couch and ready to push off.

The following frames, she wobbles to Mingyu and the sketchbook is long forgotten off to the side. Mingyu opens his arms wide to her and she falls right in. As soon as his arms tighten around her, he squishes her cheeks with crashes of his lips, attacking her entire face with kisses.

Mingyu sits on the couch this time, and Seoyeon is not alone. He cradles Seoyeon over his thighs, lying on her back over his lap. Wonwoo guesses she must have been around one years old in this video. The couch in the living room, television hanging off the wall. All the picture frames have yet to appear after the one of Junhui soaring high below the tree branches and Seoyeon trailing not far behind with the help of Minghao’s push, but they’re starting to build a line on the table that is still found in Mingyu’s apartment. Mingyu’s fingers scatter across her stomach and ribs and she curls up, giggles falling out.

Wonwoo’s heart aches at the sight, but it all suffocates the oxygen in the room when he hears a gentle female voice, song-like amidst the scrunch of Mingyu’s face tickling the air out of his daughter. “Mingyu, Seoyeon’s not crying, is she?” is a painful joke.

Mingyu cocks his head up to the camera, bangs in disarray with no purpose of flattening over his forehead, and his eyes relax with a smile that holds the reflection of the world, relief for the person who holds such a voice. Wonwoo plays with Mingyu’s voice in his head, completes the scene for him, _You were filming this whole time? I can’t believe you, Jihye, but save the video for me_.

Wonwoo barely breathes, but the tears nip on the spot because this video was captured so long ago, back when divorce never worried a possibility into a certainty, when Wonwoo promised himself never asked Mingyu to explain why Jihye left, before Mingyu called on the day he signed the papers and sent Seoyeon to stay with Minseo for a while, the while when his daughter woke up to his sobs muffled into the drenched shirt he was wearing. How much Mingyu’s world changed not long after this video. How much Wonwoo missed all of this, never bothered to reach a hand through the ocean until everything broke. It makes him wonder, again, why Mingyu and Jihye separated in the first place, when so much of family and home resonated in their own family and inside their own home, but he keeps his promise.

\----

Seoyeon screeches, excitement bubbling, long before they step into Central Park, and Mingyu rolls the windows down so Seoyeon hears the ghost of guitar strums mixing into the air. When they do find a parking spot and Mingyu lifts Seoyeon off her car seat, she points at anything that catches her view, at everything around her. Wonwoo and Mingyu start their way down the path, but Seoyeon flashes at a breakneck pace over the rim of his glasses, books it hard that her feet collide.

Wonwoo jerks forward, but Mingyu takes two steps that’s enough for him to sweep down with her landing in his arms before she lands flat and scrapes against the ground. Wonwoo lifts his hand from his chest, lethargic breaths calming his heart. He’s not sure if he’s surprised, relieved, or impressed that Mingyu caught her before she landed. It must have happened a lot.

As Mingyu brings her back up, she still jumps at how big the park is and tugs at Wonwoo’s sleeve, hops even higher on her toes, and asks if they “can buy ice cream from the ice cream man under the tree.”

Mingyu thanks the ice cream man after scooping four cones that Wonwoo pays for, with one extra topped with a flavor Seoyeon never tried before. Wonwoo kneels down, whispers in Seoyeon’s ear about a plan of hiding from her dad. They won’t go too far; they’ll follow the pavement rooted between the trees and he believes Mingyu is smart enough to figure that out. When she nods, as Mingyu struggles to yank out a few more sheets of napkins, Seoyeon grabs Wonwoo’s hand and they run. They don’t know where they’re going; Wonwoo visited here only once, and once is enough for him to vaguely remember where Sheep Meadow blends into Strawberry Fields.

They hide behind a tree and Wonwoo kneels down again, brings a single digit up to his lips to signal her to stay as quiet as she can so their location won’t be foiled by her squeals. He scans everything at the right side of the tree, sneaking licks of his vanilla ice cream, and Seoyeon scans the left. They agree to squeeze each other’s hand three times if they spot the lonely giant around.

“Did we go too far?” Wonwoo asks and the idea of losing Mingyu in the middle of Central Park, in a city he stepped into for the first time just a few days ago, in a country where the main language doesn’t suit well at his tongue yet, slams him with guilt. Mingyu can be anywhere in the park at this point, and Seoyeon might not even have a father to go back to when they head to his apartment.

They’re about to turn around and Seoyeon’s face drops. “Where did Daddy go?”

Wonwoo shrugs, closes his eyes to slow down the pounds of his heart at his temples, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to panic in front of Seoyeon, either.

A growl pierces his ears and someone grabs onto Wonwoo’s shoulder. He looks for Seoyeon, at another hand grabbing Seoyeon’s shoulder. Mingyu picks Seoyeon up in his arm and deadpans, “Did you just ditch me? In Central Park?”

Seoyeon hugs Mingyu tight, disregards the cone in her hand, and Mingyu ignores the streak of vanilla in a band of his hair.

  


Wonwoo spreads over the bed, glasses crooked but not knocked off to the side enough to miss Seoyeon leaning on the railings, peering between each rod and watching Mingyu cook dinner. Occasionally, her voice gradually peaks and dips in volume to ask if Mingyu can hear her from the other side of the apartment.

“Can you hear me, Daddy?” she whispers, sliding her face up and down as if it’ll make a difference.

“No, but I can,” Wonwoo whisper back just as loud, and it earns him a companion on the mattress. Seoyeon asks him if he can continue the story. Wonwoo purses his lips, tries to remember where he left off. “So the man doesn’t find anything at the lake. In the winter, the lake is frozen over, but he still sees something moving along the cattails. The man goes over a bridge and tries to look down, but he still sees nothing through the layer of ice.

“The layer melts in the springtime and the water is at its highest. Imagine walking in the lake and the water goes over your head.” Under the sheets, a cool brush of an gasp feathers his arm at the thought. “He walks around the lake and he hears a song. He follows it, only to be led to the other side of the lake, hidden in the hunching branches of trees. He parts the branches like a curtain and the music stops, he doesn’t breathe, and the man in front of him doesn’t move. He wants to say sorry, but it’s forgotten when he notices green and silver scales where his legs should be. The man in front of him dives before a question can be asked.”

“He’s a mermaid,” Seoyeon announces as if the world must know. “Is the mermaid Uncle Soonyoung?”

\----

Wonwoo wonders where their appetites have gone to. The moment Wonwoo announced that the three of them will literally eat _all day_ , Seoyeon and Mingyu celebrated a little too hard that Mingyu threw Seoyeon in the air, skipped breakfast just to have more room in his stomach, and prayed they could still handle everything.

He takes them to somewhere somewhat familiar, to the Little Chinatown that hits a resemblance to meals Junhui and Minghao cooked, to Junhui and Minghao’s home away from home, before moving onto Little Italy. Even without breakfast and skipping straight for lunch at noontime, by the time they manage to get back to Wonwoo’s apartment and change into pajamas, Mingyu passes out on the couch with Seoyeon flat on his chest. Her hair strokes Mingyu’s nose, rumbles of his snore more of a lullaby than Wonwoo’s own from the first night.

Wonwoo is careful not to dig his fingers into Seoyeon’s flesh and bones when he lifts her up and off Mingyu’s chest. He drapes her over his arms and carries her up the stairs, to the bed. When he lays her down, he pushes the strands away from her face. For a second, he considers bringing Mingyu up here, to wake him up if not carrying him up. But his judgement deems that it will cause more harm than help, so he grabs a spare blanket and drapes it over Mingyu’s shoulders to his toes.

Wonwoo sleeps with only Seoyeon on the bed this time, patting her stomach when she starts to scowl in her sleep. And that morning, Wonwoo wakes up with Seoyeon curled into his side, her arm over his stomach and leg over his knees.

\----

Wonwoo squeezes Seoyeon in a tight hug on his lap when she cries against his chest, after Mingyu broke the news that they will be leaving soon. He closes his eyes and wishes time holds them captive like this but when Seoyeon grips onto his shirt, Wonwoo almost cries, too. He almost cries because he doesn’t want to go back to his lonesome apartment, to his endless schedule book of people he might have to fake smiles for as he writes for the day that will bring smiles for the rest of their lives. Wonwoo doesn’t want to go back to emptiness, to make a fool of himself in front of only himself as he calls out for Seoyeon and Mingyu long after they’ve boarded the airplane. He doesn’t want the absence of home under a roof he should be calling home for the past eight years.

  


They don’t know how they managed to do it, but Mingyu sends Seoyeon to sleep at midnight. The first thing Wonwoo and Mingyu do when they enter the balcony is sigh, defeated bouts of air, at the same time. They leave the door open, though, because they figure Seoyeon is too tired from her tears to wake up in the middle of the night. The chance that she’ll wake up still looms by a margin, and they’ll be ready to run inside of the chance meets them.

“I’m worried, Wonwoo.” Mingyu’s voice wrings out exhausted after repetitions to Seoyeon that they can’t stay here, they can’t bring Uncle Wonwoo back to their apartment in Seoul. “I don’t want the same thing to happen again, but we can’t avoid it. Not when she loves you so much.” His eyes dim down when he croaks out a, “Sometimes, I think she loves you more than she loves me.” It’s the lazy grin on his face, the stare into the void for the long-living lights in front of them, that Wonwoo knows Mingyu is failing to crack a lighthearted joke.

“Seoyeon loves you way more than she loves me,” Wonwoo assures him. _You’re her father, after all_. “She might cry again.” Mingyu scoffs when he promises that they will see each other again, “Maybe I’ll go back for another vacation.”

“She’ll just cry again when you have to go,” bitter and black, litters intrusive thoughts between the two.

A silence passes and the silence only chokes the question out of Wonwoo even more. “Hey, Mingyu,” and after a hum of acknowledgement from the younger, “are you okay with how close Seoyeon and I are?”

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to tell him that, “Out of all the guys, she opened up to you the fastest.” He retells the search for Wonwoo at the airport and Seoyeon truly finding him first before he did, droning of the world around them when he and Seoyeon sat at the counter with the coloring books he bought for her, as if no one else poked Wonwoo for a conversation to catch up or to ask Seoyeon which character the pencil in her hand was aiming for. Mingyu continues on, adding more to Wonwoo’s surprise of how Seoyeon often asks him when Uncle Wonwoo will come back. “You know, when the guys ask who she loves more, Uncle Wonwoo or themselves, she says you every time. And whenever she sees an airplane at night, she asks me if you’re in it.”

Wonwoo is a fool for his assumption that she would have been closer to Seokmin or Soonyoung. The liveliness of the couple, especially when together, wipes any child’s tears away. And the fact that they still find themselves in heated discourses over Naruto or cooling down to shuffle Yu-Gi-Oh cards seals them as most-likely to run a daycare. Wonwoo’s thoughts trail over to if the two will treat their adopted child the same way they treat Seoyeon, or with even more love, if that’s possible in the world. “I thought she’d be closer to Seokmin or Soonyoung.”

“Oh, no,” Mingyu shakes his head, twists his lips up in a grin that probably means the opposite, “she was scared of them for a week because they were just so, I don’t know, energetic. I mean, I’m sure she knows they’re my age, but they really do carry hearts of a child.” Mingyu scratches the side of his face and Wonwoo pinpoints the exhaustion at the sluggish drags of words out his lips, slow blinks against dulling moonlight and clouds.

The city whispers to them, car honks from down below. Someone cracks a cigarette a few floors down and Mingyu leans over, slides the balcony door shut. Mingyu opens his mouth to talk, but he closes it. A tear in his eye barely hangs onto the corner and when it falls, Wonwoo wipes the lingering wet streak. Wonwoo doesn’t ask what’s wrong, waits for Mingyu to talk about it only if he wants to. The tears flow for a while, smashing apart when they hit the floor, and Mingyu refuses to look at Wonwoo and resorts to staring at the moon.

Mingyu inhales deeply, finally steadies himself against the shiver of cold, of his heart, “Jihye called me.” Wonwoo questions it because he hasn’t heard anything about Jihye since she and Mingyu split. He doesn’t say it but somehow, Mingyu knows what he wants to ask. “She wanted to see Seoyeon, but I told her she can’t. It’s just,” Mingyu gathers his thoughts, watches his fist clench over the slopes separating their armrests. His fingernails dig fading curves into his palm and leaves it there as he digs his thoughts deeper, “I’m scared of her reaction to seeing her mother for the first time in years. Do you think she’ll be angry at her mother?”

“I don’t know, but it’s never a good thing when her mother is mentioned.” Wonwoo recalls the way he told Mingyu to sleep when he troubled his thoughts about the first nights without Jihye, and he stops his hand from coming up to clamp his shirt over his heart when he remembers Seoyeon crying about Wonwoo leaving, just like Jihye, just like her mother. Wonwoo then asks when Jihye called and Mingyu spits a date from days go, before they stepped foot into the airport at the other side of the globe. Mingyu kept this inside for so long and Wonwoo never noticed a hint of it.

“She just hung up when I said no. It’s what we agreed on when we filed the papers.” It doesn’t take long for Mingyu’s head to slump against Wonwoo’s shoulder, and he lets him cry because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Jihye called me again yesterday when you and Seoyeon were brushing your teeth. She asked me again if she could see Seoyeon, but I didn’t tell her we weren’t in Korea. I told her I didn’t want her to see Seoyeon, I don’t want Seoyeon to think her mother is coming back when she really isn’t. I don’t want Jihye to be here when Seoyeon has been the happiest I’ve seen since she left.” Mingyu sobs against Wonwoo’s shoulder and he pulls him into a hug, rocks him back and forth, faint brushes of faltering lips to continue up the column of his skin. Mingyu is forever taller than Wonwoo, but Mingyu fits so small under his arms. “I don’t want to give her false hope like that.”

Wonwoo agrees, thoughts matching up, and says it’s understandable for Mingyu to turn Jihye’s request down, the only words spoken from her in years. Wonwoo stretches his hand to wipe the tears from his own eyes. “What’s the point of letting her in when she’s the one who left you?”

When Mingyu evens out his breathing and Wonwoo says there’s nothing they can do about his eyes in the brink of sleep, Wonwoo cards his fingers between Mingyu’s drags him into bed around Seoyeon.

\----

Seoyeon sings a few nursery rhymes in her seat as she slices breakfast with a fork. Mingyu refuses to sit at the dining table, residing at the counter and eating straight from the frying pan with a spatula. All words exchanged in the kitchen are aimed only at Seoyeon, for Seoyeon.

The morning doesn’t get any better when Mingyu paints a fabrication again about his puffy eyes, pink stings that lasted the entire night and more. “The oil splashed in my eye while I fried the eggs.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightens at another lie and Mingyu cautions a glance at Wonwoo, as if they know lying about Mingyu’s tears is all he can do to Seoyeon.

  


They sit around the coffee table, not cracking a word at each other, and Seoyeon doesn’t cry as Mingyu packs her clothes. She hugs Stitch to her chest as she fumbles to fold the dried clothes, but Mingyu says she can match the socks because his own shirts are too big for her to fold.

Instead of following what her father says, Seoyeon stands up, drops her Tsum Tsum at her feet, and grabs one of Mingyu’s shirts out of the pile left to fold. The bottom hem of the shirt goes down to her calves and she begins at a walking pace around the apartment until Wonwoo stands up and the two try to dodge every piece of furniture before he catches her.

When Wonwoo’s lungs burn a the physical exertion, reopening hibernating muscles at his lungs and legs, Wonwoo asks, a break of their cold and quiet streak of the day, if she does that with Mingyu’s shirts at home. Wonwoo remembers, right there, that they were ignoring each other, but he forgets what for.

Mingyu nods, leans back with Wonwoo as they watch Seoyeon climb up and down the stairs, ends of the dress-shirt brushing into the railing. “You left a couple of your shirts in my place, so she does it with your shirts now.”

  


That night, after sleep catches up to Seoyeon and Mingyu, Wonwoo pulls Seoyeon’s backpack to the counter. He packs a journal, laced with a map of the world, a pencil, and two packs of jelly juice for her to drink while they wait at the airport tomorrow.

\-----

Mingyu bears all the weight of their check-in baggage when they reach the airport. After getting off Wonwoo’s car, Seoyeon runs up to him and asks to carry her, fingers almost hovering his shoulders that she can latch onto him if she wants to. She hops on her toes, though, until Wonwoo brings her to his arms, straightens up, and he swears the wind evaporates out his lungs as she hugs him.

  


Seoyeon stays on Wonwoo’s lap once Mingyu checks in and finds seats before security. Mingyu stuffs their plane tickets into his bag to be forgotten, to pretend that they don’t have to say goodbye today or ever. Seoyeon plays with the glasses on Wonwoo’s nose, distorting the world whenever she grabs a hold of it, but Mingyu and Wonwoo don’t speak a word. There isn’t much to say at the moment, and they agree it will minimize the minutes of Seoyeon’s tears down her face.

Two hours before their boarding starts, Mingyu sighs at Wonwoo, tells Seoyeon they have to go and “Uncle Wonwoo can’t come with us this time.”

A quick spell of “No, no, no, Uncle Wonwoo” is slower than her grip securing around his neck. Mingyu swallows hard and pink seeps into his eyes. But Wonwoo runs a hand up and down Seoyeon’s back, reassures her that they “will meet again, don’t worry, Seoyeon. But you have to go back home for now.”

Seoyeon slides into Mingyu’s arms after he whispers more that they will see each other again. But when she asks how long is again, Wonwoo supplies her with a meager, “Soon, Seoyeon.”

Mingyu and Wonwoo reach in for a hug, but Wonwoo heaves an inhale for the palm reviving at the back of his neck and Seoyeon slips back into his arms. “Come with us, Uncle Wonwoo,” she cries, and Wonwoo’s heart sinks lower than the pit of his stomach.

Mingyu manages to pull her off him a second time and Wonwoo takes in faint, cool scratches of her fingers from trying to cling onto him. The lonesomeness accompanies Wonwoo before turning around to head for his empty apartment, knowing he doesn’t have Seoyeon to hold or Mingyu to share the same space in the same time. Mingyu and Wonwoo hug one more time, and he thinks he hears a sniff, but he can’t tell if it’s from him, Mingyu, or someone else passing off to say goodbye.

“Thank you for letting us stay.” Mingyu musters a frail lift of his lips. “Thank you for fulfilling my birthday wish.”

Mingyu turns quick and starts walking down the boarding gate. Anyone listening in would have considered it as rude, so cut-short and left hanging, Wonwoo wanting to run after Mingyu and Seoyeon with the world telling him he shouldn’t. Because this is what he and Mingyu settle on. Because they know the longer Seoyeon stays with Wonwoo before boarding, the harder it will be to free her hands off Wonwoo’s jacket.

Seoyeon’s cries echo throughout the floor of the airport and most heads turn to her before their eyes detect who she’s crying out for. He hears her cry out for him, and it shakes everything from his thoughts clouding his head to the soles of his feet. His fingers off the wet stains down his cheeks for Seoyeon’s echoes more than the shattering impact of his knees on hard tile.

He watches Seoyeon pound her fist on Mingyu’s back before she stops, perhaps realizes her futile attempts to get Wonwoo to take a single step in her direction. Before they turn the corner and disappear completely from his sight, he catches Seoyeon slumping against Mingyu’s shoulder, stare right at him with tears dripping down the bridge of her nose. He hears her call out a “Dad” that he’s unsure if it’s cut off for Mingyu or for himself.

A tap on his shoulder forces him back to reality, protects his limbs from bumping into someone pushing a cart loaded with straining cardboard boxes. He straightens up, turns to a former client that walked into his office a month ago.

“What happened, Wonwoo?” He shakes his head, says that his loved ones are going back home. His throat closes up from talking about it, but she goes against that unspoken, ungranted wish and pipes up to ask if, “You have a daughter? I heard a little girl crying for her dad.”

Wonwoo shakes his head again, denies having a daughter. But he steers the talk back to her once she offer him a pack of tissue he accepts and he asks what she’s doing here at the airport, if she’s waiting for family members to arrive or depart. She clears up that she is the one boarding a plane, to her honeymoon with her husband to Fiji.

Wonwoo wishes them a safe flight and a goodbye teeters at his lips, but she hugs him, thanks him one more time for the rows he wrote for her. She leaves him off mentioning how her husband still repeats them when they’re at home and around.

  


That night, sleep runs away from Wonwoo. Seoyeon’s voice chases him into the back of his mind, drives him up a corner.

\----

The next morning drops a lump in his throat and scalds a sting at his eyes to stay shut.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that concludes mingyu and seoyeon's trip to wonwoo's side of the globe! you know how the first time wonwoo came home from vacation, he lied about being too sick to come to work? yeah i ended up getting sick when i came back from the philippines adksfjlkdjf i should have at least considered it was going to happen to me lmao  
> anyway thank you for still reading up till this part! there's still some way to go with this story honestly. and if you came back for updated version of this chapter, thank you for reading it again!


	10. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: wonwoo struggling to find the right words and he feels awful for disappointing people. also, there are mentions of divorce and sleeping pills  
>  **like chapter 9, i'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter and i'll probably go back and rewrite it. it's just been a longer while since i've updated and i didn't want to leave this fic untouched when i had a full draft sitting here**

On his first day back, eyes glinting at the corners blind Wonwoo more than the lack of autumn overcasts refracting off the rims of his glasses. Something strangles him from the pit of his chest and it tells him to run towards the opposite direction of his office, miles past his coworkers wiping down windows, discussing fittings and updating tailoring on top of cursory glances at Wonwoo. He waits for the barrage of questions as his key stutters into the lock, and he hates how nervousness mends everywhere, even down to the sweat swirling into his fingerprints. He walks inside, shuts the door far from welcoming, and settles down.

He digs out his planner, thumbs the sticky tabs crumpled and flitting out, and sits at his desk with his laptop whirring to life. He leaves the sign at his door closed for any appointments or drop-ins today, aims to have the day focused on placing appointments where they fit on the calendar, slots them in the correct spots on the clock.

 

 

It's past eleven when he gets up for the restroom outside his office for the last time in his life. He would have startled the entire floor with a scream and a trajectory of his entire heart out his chest when he opens the door with a creak, pace stuck with his head behind the door, when someone asks right at his ear where Mingyu is now. Another worker quirks eyebrows at the waiting answer to if Wonwoo is dating Mingyu. More slips of tongue stir at the idea of Wonwoo and Mingyu adopting Seoyeon.

Wonwoo's breath hitches and he slides his hands back up his sleeves, hiding the sweat in the seams of his wrists. His blood beats harder into his temple and he swears his periphery tilts at each thump of his heart, at each pair of eyes expecting a single answer. The chatter solidifying around him smashes down to dust when he opens himself up, "Seoyeon is really Mingyu's daughter," licks his lips, "and he separated from his wife a while ago," pushes down the ball of anxiety at his throat, "and got a full custody of Seoyeon," and wishes he never left his office at this hour.

Eyes probing for any more questions release their wandering looks from Wonwoo. Someone mumbles about missing Seoyeon, and Wonwoo stops himself from replying that he does, too, and that he wishes Mingyu and Seoyeon were here. He drops the hand picking at loose skin around his nail beds, from his fingernails denting his skin deeper.

Light, quick voices indulging in news about Seoyeon and Mingyu dissipate into low murmurs, eyes casting down to sullen taps of the keyboard, and heaving sighs that remind him he slaughtered the hopeful sparks of revealing a different side of him. If he really wants to, he would tell stories about Mingyu and Seoyeon to revive the atmosphere into something more bearable, but he knows his voice will falter more than the key this morning.

So he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolls through the pictures from home because everyone in this building knows every speck coating the inside of New York City from the outside. Junhui cradling Seoyeon in his arms and Wonwoo bidding a reserved wave of his hand at her. His and Mingyu's backs as Mingyu lifts Seoyeon up on his shoulder. The ice rink brimming with children following stumbling adults. Changwon caught in the white dust of winter.

Someone digs his fingertips into his arms once he lands on a picture of him and Mingyu wearing Minnie Mouse ears, Seoyeon caught in a bubbling smile at the two. "Just like a cute family," she coos, and Wonwoo reminds himself to breathe.

 

 

Wonwoo's endeavors in and out of his office bathes a pink hue in everyone's cheeks, and it resorts him to escaping into his space and hoping he has enough food in his fridge to pass off as lunch. He checks off the last appointment scheduled, time frame longing for the end of the month, when his phone rings something untainted at this hour. He glances at his phone, to Mingyu's name chiding for a video call.

Wonwoo smiles at this, that Mingyu and Seoyeon crossed over the sea, and when he accepts after the first ring, he asks what Mingyu's calling for this time. Mingyu ruffles his hair, shirt sliding off his shoulder when he eases forward to tilt his camera down to the pile of clothes left to fold.

"We made it home," Mingyu announces with open arms, a deep inhale of his apartment’s oxygen. "I mean, we made it home hours ago, but we fell asleep and watched _Cinderella_ again."

"Where's Seoyeon, then?" at the silence between Mingyu's sentences.

"She fell asleep."

The chatter dwindles down to Wonwoo clicking back and forth from his laptop to the pen in his hand, bridges appointments to a schedule book on his laptop before dropping the mouse entirely and scribbling down the same appointment into his planner. It diminishes into Mingyu shuffling through his bags, walking from the couch and to somewhere off the screen, sitting back down. Mingyu mutters about the twenty-four-hour laundry room granting him a blessing, and Wonwoo scoffs at that until he remembers the shorter hours of his own laundry room at his apartment building.

"Did you eat already?"

"Yeah," if an cup of instant coffee and a slice of bread counts, "did you?"

Mingyu whips a shirt flat and lays it across his lap. "We ate in the airplane and when we got home." His hands locked from folding a sleeve over, he pouts into the second thought, "Seoyeon ate my bean sprouts," and it fades at the third thought, "but she did give me all her seaweed, so that makes up for it." Mingyu stacks the shirt on another at the couch, pile of Mingyu's shirts shorter than Seoyeon's shirts. "What time is it over there?"

Wonwoo spits a time after noon because his brain itches more into the worries of Seoyeon and the rest of the way home.

"The flight was fine. She didn't cry after the plane took off, but I think it's because I gave her the window seat this time." Mingyu then slaps his palms on his thighs, dull sound knocking Wonwoo's pulse a beat off and sending a jolt out his heart and to his fingertips. He wrinkles the shirt he finished flattening a second ago and stares directly at the camera, as if Wonwoo listens to his words from the other side of the living room instead of the other side of the globe. "She asked a flight attendant if she could use the restroom."

"Are you serious?" monotonous, quiet, but he still wants to know more.

Mingyu sets the scene with his words, sits with his legs crossed and pretends to be asleep. "I woke up to the flight attendant holding her hand while she went back to her seat. She told me that Seoyeon pressed the button and asked where the restroom was." Mingyu shakes his head in disbelief. "All because I was asleep." Mingyu picks the collared shirt back up and wipes off the wrinkles he formed. "Are you meeting anyone today? Is it going to be a busy day?"

Wonwoo shakes his head, plots his first appointment for October the first thing in his opening hours. "I'm not meeting anyone today, just scheduling, so it won't be too bad. "What about your interviews?"

Mingyu starts off all about the interviews, how he's inclined more towards the university's old building just because it resides a special place in his heart. He stumbles on his words explaining the outline of it all, but his words linger unfinished when three knocks end his sentences and Wonwoo's head flies up and away from Mingyu.

Sam apologizes for interrupting anything, but Wonwoo tells her it's alright. "Are you seeing any clients today?" Wonwoo asks if someone is asking about vows. Mingyu mutters some words in English, "drop-ins" and "accepting" and "you, you, you" muddled into joining the conversation. Mingyu's volume travels to the other side of the room and Sam gasps, "Is that Mingyu?"

"Hi, Sam!" perks from his phone speakers, sparks up the room brighter than ripping the blinds open. Wonwoo debates on turning the phone to Sam, but Mingyu doesn't seem to care about the blow of his hair, the way his shirt slides off his shoulder because it's one of those larger shirts he only wears to bed. He would be fine with the guys seeing him in this state, but perhaps he would have to open up more to Sam before Wonwoo can face the screen to her.

Sam returns the greeting, asking the same question of the hour, before asking Wonwoo again if he's accepting anyone today, because "the guy is really impatient." Wonwoo purses his lips, balances between questioning if he should and answering that he's not, but he asks, instead, if the guy is waiting outside his door right now.

She grinds her teeth, taps a finger at the door. One or two clients wouldn't hurt him for the day. Wonwoo nods, agrees to let the guy in. "I can do one for today." Sam thanks him and turns to Mingyu at the click of the door. "Forget what I said earlier. I'll be seeing a client soon. 

\----

"When was the last time you saw one of these?" The client in front of him pulls something out of his wallet, back of his hand starting to thin out and evaporate into streams of veins. Between his fingers stands a laminated card that captures dripping sunlight, and Wonwoo can't decipher what anything on it spells out. "I've kept these calling cards ever since I started talking to her." 

The man goes by the name Ernest and that's all he offered when he shook hands with Wonwoo, complimented the pictures on his wall, and sat down. He waves out a calling card, wobbly noises still intact and wavering in his ears, and it takes Ernest reaching out for Wonwoo's hand to hold for Wonwoo to actually pinch the card between his fingers. Hot, callused fingers fold over Wonwoo's to wedge the card into his hand.

But Wonwoo is afraid to touch it. He hasn't seen one of these in years, decades, since his father traveled out the country once for work. The last time he ever even glanced at one was when his eyes barely skimmed over the counter he perched on besides Bohyuk, kicking his feet in the air in the same rhythm as Bohyuk's feet. He remembers reciting the number concealed under the scratched-black strip, passing the card to Bohyuk, listening to his brother say the next number, then saying the following number. It took a minute for their mother to dial the number, but Wonwoo insisted because their father concerned that she was forming wrinkles from squinting so much.

Before brushing a corner, his hands ripple out each of the wrinkles--fraying layers of laminate gloss, paper. Some edges fade into white of the inside layer, crinkling pieces shredding the silence of Wonwoo's awe. He flips each one the man splays out on the table like solitaire. "Philippines?" Wonwoo asks in apprehension, spreading his thumb over the yellow stars and sun at the top, because he'd bury himself under his desk if he was wrong.

"Yes, it's from the Philippines," he smiles, dragging languid and careful fingers over each of the cards, as if remembering the exact conversation this phone card listened through the lines. Wonwoo flips the card to the phone number side, to a date from twenty-something years ago inscribed at the bottom corner. "The thing is, she was coming home for vacation. Like a tourist in her own home away from where she should be calling home. I worked as a tour guide. I was on a boat most of the time. I went from island to island, told people about secret spots and islands' facts that people didn't know because Google wasn't so easy to use yet.

"I fell for her right away. I helped her get in the water after she told me she was scared. I swam to the ocean floor to show her oysters this big," Ernest stretches his fingers, spanning inches and inches apart until the gap hangs nearly as wide as he is, "and I don't know, I just really liked her smile." He shakes his head, drops his hands and the sparks of his voice. "But it hurt knowing that this was the only time I'll see her. I asked for her number, address, anything. I wanted to talk to her more." He taps a finger on the cards Wonwoo spreads out in a deal. "And we used those.

He grins, robbing back some of the sparks Wonwoo thought he was never getting back, at the next sad peek into his life. "Her parents didn't like me at first. They told her they didn't like me because we met through the tour, and I must have sweet-talked her into thinking I'm a good man just because I can crack jokes in dialect and in English." Wonwoo mirrors the quiet smile, at the sadder thought that the two almost never happened. "When smartphones became a thing, we stopped. I started using the cards as bookmarks. There's one in my bible at home, in my favorite book and now, there's one in my son's favorite book."

"Oh, you have a kid with her already?" Wonwoo pipes up. Ernest holds three steady fingers, proud smile abandoning the idea of Ernest holding any more sparks. Wonwoo congratulates him for a beautiful life of marriage and family, despite the uncertain beginning. "When was the next time you saw her after the tour?'

Ernest is a man of many smiles, Wonwoo learns during the ten minutes he's been with him so far. "I saved up money to go to America, to California, and let her be my tour guide. And yes, we're married already, but I want to do renewal vows. My first vows were traditional, nothing about us personally. I want our anniversary to be the exact opposite of that." 

\----

Wonwoo pushes the planner, notebooks to the side to clear his desk space. "So where did we leave off, Seoyeon?" 

She scowls, stares off the camera to think about the last time. Wonwoo allows as much time to pass to figure out where the story left off because if he's completely honest with himself, he can't remember where he cut the story untold. Seoyeon's lips part, eyes blank, before smiling a light bulb. "I think when the man scared the mermaid?"

"Yeah, a mermaid," Wonwoo agrees, nodding along to the story as if he knows exactly what's going on, despite telling the story himself.

"Wait here, Uncle Wonwoo." Seoyeon shoves the chair back and skips somewhere around the table and gone. He waits at the back wall of their dining room, allows quick chops on the cutting board to talk to him through the hushed exchanges between Mingyu and Seoyeon.

The screen shifts to an eye-cracking white, rustles breathing out his speakers harder than actual breaths, and Wonwoo no longer faces the wall. Mingyu's face spans the entire screen and he glares at Wonwoo. Mingyu lowers the camera, and his face and body engulf the space between the fridge and stove. "What did you tell Seoyeon?"

"Is Uncle Soonyoung a mermaid?" whispers from below. The corner of Mingyu's shirt flits up and down. A shadow of short fingers delve into the waist of his shirt, tugs the fabric up and down. "Can you call him? Please?"

Mingyu straightens the smile on his face, deadpans a, "I didn't think she was serious." He kneels down to Seoyeon's height, skitters a finger up her ribs for silence to surrender the room by her airy giggles. "Let me message Uncle Soonyoung first to see if he's busy."

Seoyeon nods and settles at the chair in front of Wonwoo, tells him that they're going to have to wait for Uncle Soonyoung. Wonwoo assures her that he can wait, it's fine, and asks if they should continue the story in the meantime. Seoyeon leans into the screen, to his voice at the speakers, but a ring stops them from doing so.

"It's Uncle Soonyoung," Mingyu calls out, balancing the phone between his fingertips. Perhaps his fingers drip in water from rinsing his hands after drenching them in sauce for their dinner at the wrong time.

"Seoyeon asked for me?" Soonyoung asks in shock once his voice echoes beyond the phone and Mingyu reminds him he's on speaker.

Mingyu waves his phone for Seoyeon to take, fails to mention that Wonwoo is listening from the same side as Seoyeon. "Yeah, she has an important question for you."

Wonwoo listens to the slice of a gasp as Seoyeon mumbles about sitting back in her chair, about which of her uncles can also be mermaids. His voice trips on helium only for Seoyeon and Wonwoo wishes he wasn't using his phone for this call to record Soonyoung wrapped around her finger more than once. "You had a question for me, Seoyeon?"

Her eyes capture the light above her, electricity fusing more into her voice than the light in her eyes, and she hops in her seat with the receiver close to her mouth. "Are you a mermaid?"

Wonwoo imagines the unanswered mute masking the squints of Soonyoung's eyes, lips open to answer with no actual answer or to ask another question for Seoyeon, and eyebrows knitting the lines at his forehead. Wonwoo sputters the laugh he never notices he hides behind the speakers, leans over to the side, and his side burns up his ribs, squeezes the sound out of his own laughter. Seoyeon catching him laughing at her serious question is one of the last things he would want to do to her. He peeks over and catches Mingyu staring at the camera with pinched lips, hiding his own laughter where Seoyeon can't find it.

"Who told you that?" Soonyoung asks, pointing his voice at Mingyu.

"Uncle Wonwoo did," Seoyeon answers, eyes still savoring the same light. The glow disintegrates from her eyes and winds to her lips.

No one tests any words out in the open but when Seoyeon parts her lips to wallow out a hello, Soonyoung breaks it with a deadpan, "Wonwoo, how can you be telling lies like that?"

Wonwoo sneaks a glance at Mingyu throwing his head back, covering his mouth with his hands as both ends of the world meet in one of the best ways possible. "Seoyeon and I just thought maybe you were a mermaid," Wonwoo explains after his sides calmed down.

"Sorry, Seoyeon, I'm not a mermaid," Soonyoung sighs. "Uncle Wonwoo must have mistaken me for one when we were younger."

Seoyeon's face never lets the smile dissolve, not even one millimeter, when she tells him that it's okay, that she was wrong, too. "But do you know anything about mermaids?"

"Is that Seoyeon?" Seokmin's voice barrels over Soonyoung's answer, faded out with distance from the receiver and not the ocean. "Seoyeon, my lovely Seoyeon?"

"Uncle Seokmin, are you a mermaid?" 

\----

The client tweaking the knob of her wristwatch specializes in watchmaking, designing them. But with the press of demand that's met by factories, most of the time she spends in her shop specializes in repairs. Wonwoo asks her what brought her to become a watchmaker, but she brushes the topic quickly with a short reply of her interests in small gears working, "but we should be talking about vows."

Throughout the appointment, almost every time she hovers a hand over her watch, Wonwoo finds himself shifting in the discomfort brewing from the base of his chest. It never goes away; another layer spreads over the first and his chest must be filled to the brim with all the unease he's holding in.

She scowls at some of Wonwoo's suggestions, cuts his words suspended from his mouth to her ears. Wonwoo thinks that despite working with time, time seems to work against her, of all people, squeezing everything out from the women in the fastest way possible. But Wonwoo continues and finds the first gift she gave to her significant other is a watch she crafted, took over a year to make because she wanted it to be perfect.

But it does nothing to comfort her. Her shoulders send her rocking into the chair, snapping back straight, and quickly nodding through Wonwoo's words. Wonwoo questions if any of his words weave into one ear, stay long enough for a hazy memory to settle in her brain, until it leaves out the other ear. Wonwoo asks when she starts pressing the knob of her watch, "Not to be rude, but is there something wrong? Should you be going somewhere after this appointment?"

Her eyes search for something in Wonwoo's, tension giving away and her shoulders deflating when Wonwoo assures her that she can take her time. "I'm just very nervous to propose," she admits, eyes avoiding Wonwoo, "and I spent so much time trying to get better at words, but nothing works out."

Wonwoo eases more thoughts, more flitting smiles out of her. Time stops for no one, but Wonwoo steers the hands of his clock on his table away from his eyes. Along the way, the ticking wracks something in him and he pauses the session, grabs the clock, and, to keep her smile from disappearing, stores it in his fridge.

\----

"Hey, Wonwoo, can you tell a different story?" Mingyu yawns into his fist as he slouches over to dust his drawing pad with a dry paintbrush.

Wonwoo struggles for his memory to surge some faint recollection of the last story, tries to remember even what the story was about. All he remembers is Mingyu's laughter breaking the grip of callused winter when autumn reaches with bare fingertips. "Sure, that's fine. But why?"

Mingyu's lips pinch together again, scrunches out the chuckle that escapes his nose instead, but Wonwoo knows he can't surrender the smile. "She read the actual story of _The Little Mermaid_ and got scared."

Wonwoo should have known that Seoyeon would pick up the original story sooner or later, but he didn't expect her to read it this soon. It pains him that he scared her somehow, but he promises Mingyu that he'll start a new story when she asks for a new one.

"And let me listen to it, too." Mingyu pouts. "You always tell her stories when I'm cooking, and I never hear them."

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but he complies, "Fine, I'll tell her a story after you cook dinner."

"Did I tell you how my interviews went?" Wonwoo shakes his head and it squeezes his heart that he forgot about his interviews. "They all want to call me back." Wonwoo is not sure about what goes on between designing and building, but he tells Mingyu that it's great, he should definitely work on all of them. "But with the time frame, I can only work on one, so I picked the old building."

A few clicks pass by, mouse and Mingyu's fingernails swiping across the screen, before Wonwoo adds on, "Is that why you bought that computer?"

Mingyu shrugs, wiggling the stylus in his hand. "Yeah, my laptop has been breaking down on me. Plus, Seoyeon gets online homework. She's almost seven, but they're giving her online homework." Wonwoo thinks there isn't much they can do against technology, where everything the world wants to be known and unknown can be answered at the palm of his hand. "I _should_ be working on the building, but I found out how to do this."

Mingyu's face on his phone flips over to showcase the wide-screen of his monitor, to sketches of a girl twirling in a dress. It's not as smooth as what it should look like in real life, bits of grace peeled off by the absence of some frames, but Wonwoo stares at the creases seizing her dress and the sway of her hair down her shoulders. He clicks something on the screen and it's Ariel swimming up to the barrier of sea and air, bubbles shrinking the screen once her tail disappears from the frames.

The next one has Wonwoo shaking his head; a simple drawing of a man tapping his pen against the edge of his laptop screen, the desk carrying piles of books. Smooth, even periods between the smack of the pen on the laptop and away stirs the sound in Wonwoo's head.

Mingyu pauses the animation to scribble waves on the screen. "Doesn't it look like you?"

It's been years since Wonwoo last saw this type of Mingyu: the one who hunches over the desk, because it's too short for him, as he draws something into the computer. Mingyu, who forgets he has a stylus in his hand and he can't just erase the last thing he drew with the butt-end of his stylus because he forgot to program it that way. Mingyu, who scowls at the stylus right before remembering he forgot to change the settings, after which he asks Wonwoo to help him use the butt-end as an eraser. Mingyu, the one who mumbles while he sketches--about his day, about Wonwoo's day, about the professor that won't stop asking him to show his work, about his own work he's working on right now, about Jihye’s day.

Wonwoo misses this kind of Mingyu. At least, with this Mingyu, he knows how his best friend is doing.

\----

_Hi Mr. Jeon!_

_Maybe you don't remember me, but that's not a problem at all. I think I'm more ready than before to start thinking about wedding vows. It would be great if you can come to Seattle, and I will pay for everything. I just don't think telling you will be enough, so I'm hoping seeing it will be so much better._

_Thank you!_

_Alex_

 

 

It's the first time since Mingyu and Seoyeon's visit that Wonwoo allowed himself to receive notifications from his work email, and he's not surprised to see unread ones demanding for replies. He's more surprised seeing a name that once tried to contact him before and still came back for another try.

Wonwoo calls Alex with the number at the bottom of the signature, reads the number over and over again to make sure it's correct on his screen. It's three rings when he hears a woman's voice at the other side.

An apprehensive "Hello?" greets Wonwoo.

"Hi, this is Wonwoo-or Mr. Jeon. Is this Alex?"

 

 

Wonwoo marks off a week on his calendar, the third week of May saved for this Alex.

\---- 

His phone chimes in Mingyu's tune and his brain revels in a few more seconds for his brain to wonder why Mingyu is calling him at such an hour. When he picks up his phone, five in the morning hasn't breached his side of the world yet, but it doesn't bother him as he swipes to answer the video call. He blinks his eyes hard when he sees only Seoyeon sitting at the table, rocking left and right in the chair.

Wonwoo yawns through her greeting and he apologizes for doing so, "It's so early," he whispers to himself. "Did you eat dinner already? Where's your dad?" when Wonwoo's eyes haven't spot a blur of a giant lurking in the background.

"I ate cake from Uncle Jeonghan's birthday. And Daddy's taking a shower, but he left his laptop on." Seoyeon smiles as she adds on that she already took a shower. "Can you tell me a story, Uncle Wonwoo? It looks like it's your bedtime there."

Wonwoo nods, smirks through her correct assumption. It's just a little too far into his bedtime here, but he smears the sleep from his face. He sits up, scratches the corners of his eyes and scalp before he searches for his glasses. He turns the lamp at his bedside and doesn't care what comes out his mouth at this point. "So there's a man who runs a tiny shop at the corner of the street. Many people know of this shop, but there aren't a lot of customers everyday. Actually, now that I think about it," he feigns a pause of a troubling thought, as if he stepped near that imaginary shop once, if not everyday, "most people come by once or twice and never again."

"Why don't they come back?" Seoyeon interrupts, scowling with another thought lingering at her lips.

Wonwoo shrugs because he really doesn't know yet. He decides he should really start planning these stories out. "Maybe we'll find out later. Anyway, outside the shop, there's a small sign that says it's open. Inside, the man is talking to a customer. He's sliding glass jars over the counter. Maybe there are seven of them, all with different colors of powder inside. And the jars are split into two groups.

"The customer is a young lady holding a little boy's hand. She looks frustrated; her eyes are angry, her words bite, and the grip she has on her son's hand gets tighter and tighter." Wonwoo holds a hand up and crushes the steel air under his fingers. "Eventually, the boy cries out that it hurts. And she lets go."

At those words, Seoyeon coils into a ball on her seat, sticking the disgust out with her tongue.

She bites it back in when they both turn at Mingyu's "Sorry, Wonwoo, it must be early over there." He drops the towel on the kitchen counter, hurrying over to where Seoyeon still sits in the chair with her knees up to her chest.

"It's fine, I needed to get up early, anyway," Wonwoo lies. In a few hours, it would have been the start of Wonwoo's one day off in the week, and he can sleep all day if he wants to.

 Mingyu shakes his head, tiny smirk peeping even more at Seoyeon expecting more of the story. "Uncle Wonwoo is going to sleep some more, okay?"

"I miss you, Uncle Wonwoo," Seoyeon calls out, strings in a goodnight over Mingyu's "Go to sleep," "it's like four there," and "I'm sure, don't worry."

Wonwoo drops his phone back on the nightstand, turns over in his blankets, but he listens to the clock ticking more than Mingyu's words. He concludes that sleep slaps him awake, that it's too late to knock back a sleeping pill or two, and heads downstairs to the kitchen table. He might as well start making breakfast.

But he sits at the table, pictures Seoyeon sitting at the seat next to him and for once, during the entire week they visited New York, the three of them share a meal at his table. He realizes, then, how automatic it was for him to stay awake for Seoyeon, how he simply accepted the call because it was Mingyu's name on his phone. At that hour, he would grumble about a stranger bothering the sleep away, threaten to throw a pillow at someone or out the window.

He runs back up the stairs to grab his phone, messages Jihoon if he has time to talk.

_04:48_

**_Jihoon_ **

_What happened_

_Do you want to call me instead_

_04:49_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_Can I?_

And with the other half of his conscience awake, Wonwoo accepts Jihoon's call and tells him everything--how lonely he felt in New York after coming back home, but how much lonelier his heart sank after Mingyu and Seoyeon left. He admits to crying after letting Seoyeon go at the airport and he thought Mingyu would cry, too. He doesn't know what's going on and why it hurts to see Mingyu and Seoyeon go back home, to leave Mingyu's apartment to go back to the States. He's used to not having anyone around but when he does have someone beside him, why does it hurt even more? "It makes no sense, Jihoon. _I_ was the one who left Seoul in the first place. Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Jihoon hums, asks if he sees Mingyu differently than he sees the rest of the guys. "Not because he has Seoyeon, but just because he's Mingyu."

Wonwoo sits there, slumps against his seat. "I don't think so. Seoyeon is Seoyeon, and Mingyu is Mingyu." He's not sure what he's saying anymore, and he's not sure if he regrets calling Jihoon or not. It’s the first time he ever laid any hidden thoughts out for someone, let alone himself. "I just-all I wanted was to make Seoyeon happy."

"Making Seoyeon happy makes Mingyu happy, too, Wonwoo," Jihoon reminds him, and it shoots straight at his heart.

 

 

Wonwoo walks into the doors of the shop, expecting to head to his office with no one to interrupt his path, but Sam's heels click on the tile and there's no way he can escape that. Her voice drops an octave lower from the usual "Morning, Wonwoo" she offers when he walks in, and it's barely a whisper when she asks if he got any sleep last night.

\---- 

November beats Wonwoo into a pulp, throws out every single word he pens for clients into the garbage bin, renders him stuck at the crossroad of giving his unsatisfying words for free and giving up entirely. He forces a smile on his last client for the week before burying his face into the depth of his palms, waits for the right words to knock some sense into his thoughts and finally seep into the lines across his hands.

It's happened to him before, more than Wonwoo would like to admit, the drought of any sincere words forming into the right thoughts, towards the exact messages he wants to convey. But it always costs him a couple of days off, last hours of sunlight spent staying in bed, walking around his apartment's block, scavenging through random articles on his phone, rather than swiping off messages and emails from his clients and boss. It always brings him back to his feet into the path of promises.

This November can grab him by the collars and punch the light out of his eyes, pen out of his hands, and he wouldn't lift a hand to fight back. The best of him trickles into the worst parts of his being, and he doesn't want it to end up in others. It almost rips out the best in him when one client asks a simple question. A quick "How do you pronounce this word?" ticks his patience and leaves him scowling at his fingers incessantly tapping over his keyboard with no words forming. It nearly crumbles all at once when he bites back a client lashing out on him, about "Why would you be doing this job, you fucking loner?"

It might be from the coffee he downs in his mornings, seconds piling up to hours of knocking back a couple sleeping pills. It can be the repeating process he never picked a hint at until now.

He turns his break sign up and searches the floors for his boss. He can't keep deluding people into thinking he can still write as well as a month ago, when words came easy for him. Words shove into his mind, but they never come back out alright or even alive.

He sits in his boss' office, forgetful of the rows of books and weddings that make Wonwoo's wall look like child's play, almost like a pitiful joke. Pictures of newly-weds with smiles brighter than the white dresses or even the white marble statue he passed by on his way to the bulky desk. He knows more people come to this building for the dresses and suits than wedding vows, and it never stings Wonwoo with a bit of jealousy. He loves his work; he loves offering people twists of their messages from his own thoughts that lasts a long time. He just hates the moments he offers more words than he can give.

So he tells this to his boss, how clients walk in with expectations of poetry inscribed with a bare lift of his wrist, not even kneading his mind too bad, because that's what Wonwoo has been doing for years. Clients come in with hopes that Wonwoo will help them carve the right words into their lives but lately, Wonwoo has been carving shallow words that don't flow right. It crushes his brain and better judgement when he tries to write, and writing becomes more like a punishment than something he loves waking up for in the morning.

He admits to his boss that because of this, he warns clients for his bad days, subpar vows, and if they're not satisfied with what he comes up with in the end, they can keep their money and the vows. Despite the offer, guilt stabs him even more when each one of those clients pretend that Wonwoo can still write, anyway, say the vows are amazing.

Wonwoo breaks when his boss tells him to finish up the last of his clients and he'll grant him time off. Wonwoo slumps his face back into his hands, lets out a sigh through his aching fingers. When his boss asks for how long, Wonwoo suggests a couple of days, like the times he's opened up for this before, but he's not entirely sure this time around. His boss brushes it off, assures that he can take more than a couple of days.

"When your brain is working the same way, the rest of your body might not, either," his boss adds on, typing something into his computer. He glances at Wonwoo for a solid second and returns his eyes back to the screen. "I can get something to work with the higher-ups."

 

  
Wonwoo shuts down his laptop, closes down accepting any appointments and drop-ins for the next days while as he rests his brain from writing vows. He calls Mingyu once he flips the sign. Phone at his ear, he tells Mingyu about taking time off work, cutting off meeting any clients after this week, simply because none of his words are heading the direction his mind wants them to. He sighs at the guilt of handing in vows that please the bitter parts of his mind, and pleases it even more when clients read through the vows one last time and asks how Wonwoo is able to write something that hits their hearts just right. 

And Mingyu calms the fluttering of his heart, surged in anxiety, that it's normal to feel that way. "It's hard to keep writing and writing, and it just exhausts your brain. Writing a lot is good, but you reach a limit and you shouldn't pick up a pencil for a while." He asks how long this has been going on and when Wonwoo spits out a time in October, Mingyu suggests to see a doctor about it.

He ends the call in a lie, tells Mingyu that he has to organize some things, despite barely touching anything into disorder. He looks off to the side, to the pile of wedding vows he passed off as holding some substance at the letters, to the other pile of invitations he had to decline. He realizes his lie is not really a lie. Wonwoo picks up his phone, points it at the stack growing taller than the freshly-sharpened pencils standing in the tin, and sighs.

Mingyu nods and sighs with him. "I'll be here if you need me."

 

 

Wonwoo wonders, between gradually pressing the break before the red light and people crossing the street and keeping their hoods protecting their heads, how Mingyu can relate. Surely, designing the perfect building can come down with loss of inspiration, doubts that the buildings will stay together if he draws one more support beam into his design to befriend the engineers. 

But writing?

Wonwoo snaps from his thoughts when a honk blares and he catches up to the green light. It should have sneaked up in him right away like a buried thought, why Mingyu knows all of this, and he skips looking at the buildings on his way home when he remembers that Jihye is a writer. Jihye is a writer, just like Wonwoo, but she nurses the right words in a different way from now Wonwoo nurses his words now. He's never seen her physically, literally write; he's only read a few of her articles from the school's literary journal. But he remembers having overlapping classes with her because of their similar majors but never sitting next to her.

 

 

Wonwoo slips into his usual sleep shirt, faded at the spots he rubbed his sweaty face on, but it's what makes his clothes softer for slumber. He gapes at the mirror in the bathroom, toys with the hem falling too loosely across his shoulder. He notices his collarbone jutting out and caving in flesh and air deeper than he last bothered to look at, turns to the fridge through the open bathroom door and notes that he's been going grocery shopping less frequently. He's thrown off schedule and he notes that he never noted that down.

 Wonwoo thinks it can be from the stress, the colder season starting to creep up into his immune system. Part of him contemplates if it's half of his heart doing half of the living and at the end of the day, it feels like not even half of him makes it to his bed.

\----

A tower of books builds up on Wonwoo's kitchen counter, vining up and about the cabinets until paperback wood meets hard slabs. Used books he bought online for much cheaper, more dents into covers and ripped binding. There's something about a single book being passed on from one reader to the next that makes going through the pages much less lonely than it would be when buying a new copy. His bookshelves line up with new copies, but his kitchen counter welcomes the new visitors of battered books and flimsy corners.

He starts his morning with the book at the very bottom, considering it must have waited the longest to be opened. He swings his foot over the bed, toes scraping by and occasionally bumping into the leg of his rickety stool. His afternoons shed into clouds parting halfway through the city and leaving some shade at the window sill. He stops bringing his cup of coffee to his lips when his stomach rumbles for something not found or prepared in his kitchen.

He scans around, searches for the closest piece of paper his eyes land on, and stuffs it between the pages. He sets his book aside for now and sets his afternoon for reviving his old discoveries from when he first stepped into the neighborhood.

 

A loaf of bread from the market and lobster tail pastries from the Italian bakery are all he swings in the bag as he hurries up the stairs, forces himself to forget the existence of elevators. There isn't much for him to do when the weather starts to sting dry at his nose, but the nearby baked goods has always been an option for him, and he wonders why he never became a regular.

At five in the afternoon, the sun delves well behind tops of skyscrapers when he thinks time shouldn't matter anymore and his evening showers can turn into afternoon ones. He indulges in a couple of lobster tails, lets himself even mumble a "Holy shit" when the cream settles smooth on his tongue.

As he licks sweet cream off his thumb, his phone rings, and he swipes the screen with his pinky, inhaling flakes and powdered sugar so they don't hit the ground or the home button.

"What are you doing?" Mingyu asks, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.

The pastry is thick in his throat when he tries to swallow before answering Mingyu, but his lips fail to keep everything inside and splutters some cream around an unsure, "Eating." Mingyu grins across the screen, shakes his head, and tells him he can wait for him to finish eating. Wonwoo folds a leg up on the stool and rests his chin at the bend of his knee when he swallows the last bite. "Did you just wake up?"

Mingyu nods and he disappears off the screen, black taking over the expanse of pixels. Wonwoo is about to test out the connection with a hello, Mingyu's name, or a question about Seoyeon, but he hears the dull cracks of what must be Mingyu's back as he stretches. Mingyu comes back to life with languid blinks. "Your eye bags are gone. Are you sleeping better now?"

Wonwoo confesses that since his leave started, he sleeps through the night without waking up in the middle of dark hours, that unproductivity doesn’t make the blame of sleeping in another hour or two worth it. Without a thought of wedding bows, Wonwoo isn't too tied to work. His usual one day off in a week never suffices, and he's often found himself still worrying about clients in the morning he planned on relaxing.

\----

_Hi Wonwoo!_

_This is Linh. I hope you've been doing well. If you're not doing that well at the moment, I hope you get better soon. I tried to visit today, but the front desk told me you'll be gone for some time and they're not sure when you're coming back._

_I wanted to tell you how life has been like since the wedding and I was hoping I'd be able to hear about yours after I stopped coming in. Peter and I went to visit my parents recently. We went sightseeing and ate so much food. They told me they're really glad Peter isn't a picky eater like me, but they were only teasing._

_Here's a picture of Peter, my parents, and me!_

_Whatever is happening right now, I hope you take your time feeling better._

_Linh_

 

 

Wonwoo clicks on the picture, of the familiar Peter and Linh standing before the Golden Gate Bridge. Her mother smiles besides Peter, mouth caught tighter in the sunny winds than the grip she has on Peter's arm. Right next to Peter is Linh, crown of her head meeting her mother's and smiling the same cold-biting smile that curves the crescents in her eyes. Her father's lips are caught knocked in laughter, holding his stomach as he keeps a hand on Linh's back.

He smiles at the picture. He takes much of his morning in bed deciding which picture to send back to Linh. He scrolls through his phone during breakfast, scans over pictures of Mingyu and Seoyeon in New York, Mingyu and Seoyeon in Seoul, Mingyu and Seoyeon in Changwon. He flips, goes all the way to the beginning traces of home, to the picture of Wonwoo looking up at Seoyeon perched on Mingyu's shoulders. It's the rest of the world blurred, Wonwoo smiling at a wide-eyed Seoyeon, Mingyu smiling at Wonwoo smiling. It's one of the first shots from home that Wonwoo will sacrifice so much to relive.

 

 

 _Hello Linh!_  

 _I'm still surviving, I suppose. I've been having trouble writing vows and decided to take a break. It won't be too long of a break._  

_I'm so sorry I'm never there when you drop by. Whenever you plan to visit, is it possible for you to email me beforehand? If you like, we can meet somewhere outside of my office while I'm on my break. I'd really love to catch up and know how life has been treating you, sitting in front of me, instead of through email. If Peter is also free, I'd also love to hear from him, too._

_For now, I'll leave you this picture._

_And thank you for the concern. I hope things are going well for you, too._

_Wonwoo_

\----

It started a couple of years after Wonwoo left. He used to call his parents and Bohyuk once a week until work drowned him and once a week became once a month, before it's tunnel vision at the calendar and once a month became emergencies that were never really emergencies. He wishes he pushed away work more up the wall, out of his time, to call his parents and brother, to tell them he's doing okay, and they shouldn't worry. He wishes he handed less hours for his work clock to ask his family how they're doing. Bohyuk's definition of emergency happens to only be when his mother tears up about missing him, and Wonwoo thinks that definition fits perfectly.

So when he does calls at a reasonable time after their dinner and before they head to sleep, he's not surprised his brother picks up the video call right away. But he's not just his brother on the screen; his mother's squinting eyes greet him, as if she's trying to imprint the words from the phone into her own eyes. He snorts at his own reflection on her glasses and it only elicits laughter from his father and Bohyuk.

"How are you, Wonwoo?" his father's voice echoes behind his mother's focused eyes. "Are you writing any vows?"

"What's the occasion for calling?" Bohyuk pipes. "Or emergency."

Wonwoo sinks into his chair, mutters that he misses them a lot, and he's wishes he can say it more. He misses the way his mother holds his hand, how she always start off with her fingers slotting between his before releasing the grip, only to squeeze his palms and wrinkles stretch over the back of her own palm. He misses how his father holds onto his shoulders as they walk because Wonwoo slouches at a handful of his steps and because his father wants to straighten his posture, too. He misses his father holding an upright stance and smiling up at him to prove his son will never be as tall as him. He misses laughing at that because the crown of his father's head barely brushes his eyebrows now, and he misses how his father used to be the tallest person he's ever known. He misses how he and Bohyuk never really grew up and still allows his little brother to snicker at condoms. He misses the warmth in the middle of winter, the quiet chatter they share in the living room while everyone else is asleep. He misses how the dining table never spans enough space for everyone when they had the smaller table, so it was always their parents eating at the table and he and Bohyuk eating at the counter. He misses bumping shoulders with Bohyuk as he slurps on stew at the counter so their parents won't have to squeeze their shoulders and plates altogether.

He misses all of this and the inhale ices down his throat when he fingers off a tear from his eye. When he looks up, his mother wipes the tears off her own eyes with the back of her hand and manages out a trembling, "I miss you so much, Wonwoo. I wish you can call like this, but I know you're busy over there, always working. I know because you always send us money." Another hand brushes her hair away from her face, perhaps his father soothing the tears with soft strokes. "I wish we can see you more often. You don't have to keep sending us money if it means you can save that up and come home again." Arms wind their way around her shoulders and Bohyuk digs the side of his face into her neck, rocking her back and forth.

Rustling burns at his ears as he no longer catches his mother's squinting eyes, but the rattling of the ceiling and Bohyuk's sigh at the focus of his camera. "Dad's taking her to their room," he frowns, drags the back of his hand over his eyes. It's silence between them, only startled when Bohyuk mentions how an entertainment company wants to hire Yerin. Wonwoo has never heard of a psychologist in the entertainment industry because it's demanding--of talent, money, and dreams. "They want her to check up on the trainees to make sure they're mentally healthy."

Wonwoo tells him to pass on messages of congratulations, that Yerin will make a good impact in the business. Bohyuk says he will and adds onto the good news. "I resigned from the university and got a job at the hospital."

Wonwoo watches the bashful grin, ducks of his younger brother's blushing cheeks, as he tells him, "I'm really proud of you, Bohyuk."

"And, I don't know, this might be too soon but in a few years, once Yerin and I have stable incomes and her parents' permission, I want to marry her." Wonwoo's heart pounds a few more beats at the thought of watching Bohyuk cross the aisle, of having to step off the podium as his best man to wipe the tears off his brother's eyes, the snot down his nose. Of the years he's known Yerin, known Yerin and Bohyuk, there's no one else Wonwoo can picture standing with his brother for the rest of his life.

He adores Yerin, from what she enjoys doing for the world to what she does to his brother. Years pressed into watching his brother go from pining over her, staying up all night after they both finished their homework and studies due the next morning so Wonwoo could listen to his little brother talk about the girl who loves going to the child development center. He remembers hugging Bohyuk when he came back home from an unofficial date, to Bohyuk crying about her parents refusing to let her date anyone until she hangs up a degree the wall. He remembers his heart aching when his brother mumbles that he'll "wait for her to cross the stage. But if she finds someone else, I'll still be happy for her." A corner of his lips soften up at the memory of Bohyuk bundling up a pillow and burying his face into it, groaning that it'll be a while, but he's willing to wait.

"Is everything okay, Wonwoo?" Bohyuk drags him away from his thoughts. "We only call if there's an emergency."

Wonwoo shrugs, admits he hasn't been writing well lately and everything he does write never reaches close to his standard. He sighs, again, and at how much it bothers him that he's giving vows to his clients, who paid for it all, when it should be going in the trash.

Bohyuk starts a smile once Wonwoo goes into his boss giving him a couple of weeks off to rest his mind and body. "It's generous of your boss to do that. As bad as it sounds, I thought the States wouldn't think much about mental health because it's all about work there."

The door creaks behind Bohyuk and he says he should go. "Mom is still crying, and I'm going out with Yerin to celebrate her new job."

"Remember to tell her I say congrats."

Bohyuk nods, pauses. "I miss you, Wonwoo. Come back when you can."

He returns the words, true to his heart, that he misses Bohyuk and his parents. He promises to consider when he should come back. "Take care, okay, Bohyuk?"

\----

He figures if he throws a trench coat over his hoodie and sweatpants, no one will know his closet is too far of a walk for him to change his clothes. He wraps a scarf around his neck, takes in the gray sky running through the clouds as children run around the playground below

He heads to the bookstore for the first time in a while. Just the company of new binds and unbroken spines, crisp pages crackling without any stains yet, eases his heart. He does what he always does when he steps into a bookstore: he winds through every aisle, bores his eyes down each shelf--cooking, self-help, religious, young adult, foreign. He resides longer at the fiction section, staring down at a book that jogs his mind towards his former professor recommending him to read once he sets foot in America, but he hasn't touched it since.

He sits down at the cafe on the first floor of the store, treading through each word to wade in exactly what his professor felt when he was reading this same book years ago. He's well into the fifth chapter when he glances up and around, at the clouds darkening but never pouring, at the children skipping to the colorful books and their parents lagging behind them. He wishes he can do this more often, the slowing beat of his heart finally letting him relax with a book in his hands.

He buys the book when he notices he's been there halfway through the store hours and he hasn't lent a single penny, except for the cafe and its tip jar. But he doesn't go home right away. He turns the other way, towards Manhattan Bridge, and starts his way to the other side. He listens to the subway churn on his right, watches the river dissolve under the Brooklyn Bridge and crosshatches of the fence slicing the city on his left.

Out of instinct, he lifts his hand out to the fence when another subway rails into his ears, shocks the cold from his nose. His eyes latch on a couple jogging in this weather, disappearing into the distance ahead of him.

When he reaches the end, it's shadows of the city ghosting into skies, Brooklyn Bridge now left behind him, and he breathes. For the first time, he inhales deeply and lets everything out through his lips.

Wonwoo's eyes trail at the clouds eating up the city one skyscraper at a time. His ears hang onto the whistle of the wind, battering of the next subway line, conversations coursing into one ear before fading into the distance through his other ear. He peers down to the water gushing in the direction of the hazy moon, against air currents, crashing into the support beams under Brooklyn Bridge.

He listens to his heart slow down.

 

 

Wonwoo leans into the railing of his balcony, blinking streaks of red into gold as one stoplight malfunctions into traffic congestion, horns blearing against hard, desolate air of his disquiet. He clasps his hands over the edge, holds onto the air stories above the ground. The wind mocks a glare at his eyes, drying past the rims of his glasses, but he stays outside.

The first time Wonwoo stood on this balcony, it took him a week after moving in. He was afraid of flying away with the wind, into the ocean, back to Seoul, thrown into Changwon. He wanted the soul of New York City lighting up his veins more than the electricity surging into actual towers, skylines becoming his nightlight and alarm to go back to sleep after a productive and rewarding day of writing. He wanted to wake up every morning with a pen at his nightstand and a promise that at night, he would commit himself to each letter of New York City, the city that never sleeps.

Wonwol leans into the railing of his balcony, angry red diffusing orange across the antlines of streets in front of him. He clasps his hands over the edge, holds onto the air stories above the ground. The wind mocks his eyes to crush shut and when he does, the rims of his glasses can't do anything against the tears the wind picks up but can’t carry enough.

\----

Wonwoo stretches his fingers over the keyboard as he sits up straight at his desk. He thinks December is the perfect time to get back into writing, into the swing of putting out wedding vows and scheduling appointments. Since December isn't too flooded with appointments, he can focus on writing and gradually bring himself back to where he wants to be. He feels he can truly breathe again.

His first client easily guides him one step closer. She mentions her story dating almost four years ago. With her older brother having a child, she tagged along their trip to the zoo. The penguin exhibit housed "some of the cutest fluff-balls I've ever seen" and apparently, it was too cute for some.

She admitted she would have cried on the spot if she saw just one more penguin trying to waddle for the first time, but someone else beat her to it. Just a few feet away from her, another woman wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, inhaling the tears before blotting them away. "I walked over to her. I asked if she wanted a hug and she fell into my arms."

 

 

Wonwoo clears his desk once the last client of the day walks out with a bright smile. Someone outside his window strings up Christmas lights up across the balcony, and he considers decorating his office for the season. 

He calls Mingyu, rambles about how he believes things are picking back up for wedding vows, despite not having much to work with compared to where he dropped everything. "I feel more motivated to write after taking a break from it. Do you think Christmas lights would be nice to have in my office?"

"You deserve the break," Mingyu smiles, rocking Seoyeon on his lap. "You should get a Christmas tree, too, while you're at it. A fake one. Someone might be allergic to the real thing, you know?"

"Daddy," Seoyeon stirs the conversation to a pause, "is Uncle Wonwoo coming here?"

Mingyu smooths a palm over the crown of her head before kissing her temple, apologizing that Uncle Wonwoo can't come here this time. "But soon, Seoyeon. He'll come back soon." Mingyu sways her side to side on his lap until he tips over on the mattress, knocks Seoyeon down with him, and they disappear off the screen. Wonwoo only catches their legs from his end, Seoyeon's squealing and Mingyu's fretting fingers scaling up her ribs until she yelps that it tickles too much.

Wonwoo wishes "soon" isn't so indefinite.

\----

Wonwoo runs the hours. The clock watches him use up its time in the same routine since his leave started and past its end. But he punches the schedule out of his sight, the routine stuck somewhere against the clock.

He begins with staring at the wall, the bumps from uneven paint jobs and old calendars thumbtacked all over. He follows up to the angle of his ceiling. It stings his eyes, searching the blank space. He sighs and the bumps on the ceiling are no more traceable than the ones on the wall next to his bed. Time works for the seeing and the numbers blur at Wonwoo.

And he cries. He's not sure why he's crying, why the sting of his nose and the burn of his eyes flood without harsh, cold winds. But it eases his chest, his muscles, his heart, to bury his face in his pillow, screw his eyes shut, and wallow out a sob that's foreign in his own ears. And he doesn't hold back; it's none of the aches in his chest to keep himself quiet, none of the trembling of his hands when his chest can't handle staying still while his heart pounds up his throat, lodges his lungs to the side.

It's sharp inhales ringing over his comforter instead of drawn-out breaths to make sure no one else hears him. It's allowing his pillow to soak up every single tear until the pillowcase sheds into darker shades. It's his nose congesting the air heavy, slicing down his throat. It's his heart weighing lighter in his chest, eases his troubles and worries, anxiety and trepidation, the emptiness of his apartment buried in nothing but his whimpers, chokes of air into his lungs when he holds his breath for too long, release of sobs that does nothing but a mere fraction to release the pain his heart concealed from his mind this whole time.

\----

Wonwoo's eyes doze off at his kitchen table, after an hour of flipping through the weathered-dwn planner from two years ago. He runs up to find the planner Mingyu bought him for the new year and flips through appointments on his laptop before jotting them down on his planner. Once January is filled, he flips through again to write down birthdays.

He finishes off the year with Jisoo's birthday when his phone vibrates across the wood, and he picks up at the recognition of Mingyu's name. Mingyu holds his face in his hands, everything from the heel of his palm to the tips of his fingers hiding his entire face, and Wonwoo traces the sigh off his lips, curves to a frown that he tries to cover up once the screen fades out from light.

Wonwoo sticks his pen in his planner and closes it shut. The pit of his stomach curdles unpleasant, afraid of wondering the details leading up to this call. "What happened, Mingyu?"

Mingyu looks behind him, towards the hallway, as if granting permission to answer. "We were watching _Lilo and Stitch_ and you know that line, the 'Ohana means family' line that everyone knows. Seoyeon started crying because of her mother again and it-I don't know what to do or say, Wonwoo. Jihye has been gone for years now and it does feel like she forgot about Seoyeon."

Wonwoo doesn't say anything, only wonders how anyone can forget someone like Seoyeon.

\----

_12:16_

**_Jihoon_ **

_Did something happen between you and Mingyu_

_12:16_

**_Wonwoo_ **

_No I don't think so_

_12:18_

**_Jihoon_ **

_Message me when you get off work_

Wonwoo shoves the thought out his mind to focus on the clients in front of him. It works for a while, waivers when someone talks about worrying she did something wrong without knowing it.

 

 

Wonwoo waits till he's packed everything in his bag, driven home, showered, and changed into pajamas before giving Jihoon a call. He doesn't doubt Jihoon is awake at this hour, so he simply asks what happened the moment he answers his call. 

Jihoon sits at his studio, stuffed animals and cartoon characters lining up the shelf besides a poster of some movie. He props his chin up with the palm of his hand, sighs even more telling Wonwoo that "the guys were out drinking when I messaged you and Mingyu started crying about missing you." His voice lowers, and Wonwoo tries to nurse the slamming of his heartbeat into his chest, "Are you sure nothing happened?"

Wonwoo barely mutters out a, "I really don't know." He thinks there isn't anything entirely bad between him and Mingyu. The ocean distances Wonwoo from everyone else at the other side, he's come to accept that, so wouldn't these video calls actually mean something better?

It's quiet between the lines and he asks Jihoon to repeat his wonderings again. "Do you...do you love Mingyu?"

Wonwoo combusts. All those times of awkward air whenever Mingyu mentioned Jihye, that Mingyu might _still_ be getting over her, that Seoyeon sees him like a father, wouldn't disturb his thinking if Wonwoo knows for a definite that Mingyu is over Jihye. He wonders if it's really love that he waits for Mingyu to call, always wants to hear about Mingyu's side of the world. He wonders if it's really love that he's scared of admitting to himself of anything because what if it's not love this entire time?

Jihoon's eyes trace out Wonwoo from the pixels and assures him, "It's okay if you haven't figured it out. But with how things are like with you and Mingyu, it seems like there's something and both of you are holding back.”

"Does it really seem that way?" withers out in the dark.

"Yeah, it does." Jihoon nods slowly, avoiding Wonwoo's eyes as he takes his time with that single sentence. "But you shouldn't rush it if you're not ready. That's what happened with Jihye and it didn't end too well between them." Another silence bears between the two of them, and they know too well without wanting to admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for still reading up to this point! this chapter was actually inspired by the fact that i had trouble writing anything after rewriting chapter 9 sldfjkdjf so that's why there's a longer period between when i first posted chapter 9 and now, chapter 10.  
> to commemorate 10 chapters, here's a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vkuru29nbugjeme1ixf26c5zv/playlist/5ml8vMQhfAtH1aEA6UrjqV?si=m9ALrVfiTUuAYb_BElvoqQ) of some of the songs i listen to while writing up to this point in the fic--whether it's because of one line, the entire lyrics, the artist's voice, or simply the mood. there are a couple of jonghyun's songs, along with lee hi's "breathe," so if it's a little too much at the moment to listen to his voice or his words, i advise not to listen to the playlist.  
> i hope everyone is doing well yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and if no one has told you yet, you've done well


	11. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **some warnings:** there are mentions of wonwoo not eating well. there is also a death talked about here (miscarriage). and shield your eyes!! i didn't edit this chapter much so it's probably gross in writing style  
>  and i've finally went out and made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity)  
> so if you're more comfortable using those and you want to scream at me about anything, i'm there. there's nothing on either of them yet lmao

The Christmas tree watches over him, mimicking his desk lamp and standing not that tall beside it. The treetop levels off as high as the single bulb and in reach whenever his fingers twirl for somewhere other than the reliable sheet of light from his own lamp. Throughout the day, he finds himself swatting one quarter-sized ornament at a time, flickering the lamplight and swinging narrow LEDs. There is nothing much else to the tree but somehow, smiles become a contagious thing spreading from one client to the next, more than quaint wishes for the holidays, in and out of his office. And in between, he pops peppermint candies into his mouth and offers some to clients walking in. For the most part, his days end with his peppermint jar brimming dangerously close to the surface of the table and every night, he has to jog his brain back to where he last stashed the bag.

It's four days until Christmas and for once, Mingyu's name lights up his phone more than the reflection of the tree and more than the escaping moonlight hours at his side of the globe. He pushes his notebooks into his bag, unplugs the tree before he has to leave, and answers the call.

Mingyu pouts all over the screen and dodges Wonwoo's eyes until he finally asks what's wrong. "My parents want to spend time with Minseo's kids and Seoyeon, so I might not be able to greet you a Merry Christmas."

Wonwoo finds the gesture a little sweeter than what he's used to, but he assures him that it will be fine, there's no need to warm him beforehand, and it's not as if Wonwoo will be heading home to spend his Christmas with them this year. His heart yearns for Mingyu's edge of the ocean, to see his family and friends again, but the two weeks off gifted him with two weeks of a packed schedule and barely any room to breathe after his usual one-day off on Sundays. After Mingyu tells him to drive safely and he hopes he can squeeze in a video call somehow "because Seoyeon misses you," Wonwoo ends the night alone.

Despite leaving his door slightly ajar for anyone to walk in, the only thing that stumbles in is are eavesdrops of coworkers, the new year's rustle for resolutions. Most delve into spending more time with family, traveling somewhere they've never went before, losing weight. Once his planner is the only book left to tuck away, he sits back down, flips to the first page for the new year, and wonders what it would be like to have new year's resolutions. He knows he could have started this change any other day but with the new year rolling in, he thinks there's no better day to throw his old self away into the old year.

The first goal he writes for himself is to take better care of his mind and body, jarred with his mother's worrying about his clothes hanging baggier or sliding off his shoulder with no resistance, isolation leaving him staring down at his windows and wondering if he should go out or not before deciding to work on the vows he promised to touch the next day. It means not burning himself out by burning his eyes blind with the blank pages of expectant clients, to give himself some rest, to remember to eat full meals, instead of drinking coffee. It means calling his family more often to balance out his work and personal lives.

It also means talking to people at his workplace, outside of his social circle that's more like a dot and it only includes Sam at the middle of it all. He wants to forget that shutting himself in his office to catch up on his meals is ever an option and he should start heading to the break rooms and talking to tailors, listening in on their rambles about outrageous demands to make a dress or suit too tight, ease the ache in the floors from searching for a single dress in a building housing hundreds. He can wander more around the sales floor, poking his head behind the couches and clients picking which dress goes with the veil they adore or how the suit makes them look slender and tall.

And most importantly, Wonwoo thinks it means being honest with himself and his own thoughts, apprehensions, and his heart. By being honest with himself, he has to be honest with everyone else. He bends the page's corner towards his chest and away from his heart as he tells himself to open up to other people's words and at least consider them before throwing their ideas out the window. After all, they're only offering him what they think is the best for him, and Wonwoo expects the worst outcomes each time.

\----

A couple days later, he recounts his resolutions to Sam, without his planner nearby, and she hops onto the ride of fulfilling his resolutions faster than Wonwoo himself. She suggests to start in the break room and later, "we can go to this new cafe that's opening today. They're giving away free bottles and I want one."

Wonwoo eases at Sam's optimism to help him, that he never receives any judging scowls or defensive, crossed arms from her, despite standing at the opposite ends of the social spectrum. While Wonwoo sits at his office during his break, she heads from break room to break room, sales floor to lobby, offering something his wife and kids baked before she even left her home. She never trips up on compliments as she passes by brides and grooms trying something on with weary eyes, the sounds of nervous teeth gnawing into the disquiet, and her patience with him and everyone weighs more than the world.

"Is it okay if a few others come along?" she asks as soon as he offers to drive her to the cafe. A second's lag falters his response, because he would rather go with Sam alone, but he agrees, anyway. "Robert might be there after he alters a dress. Is that okay, too?"

Wonwoo sighs, wills himself that Robert was merely trying to get something out of him, that he meant nothing else but that. Another second's lag falters his next response, but he agrees, anyway.

 

 

At the cafe, Wonwoo's fingerprints trace over outlines of a sleepy cat inside a mug, glasses crooked on its nose, across a clear glass bottle. He thanks Sam for bringing him here, but she brushes it off and confesses that she's more thankful he came. He sits through conversations of the sales floor, specifically of a client today who seems to have came in just to try on dresses with no plans of marrying any time soon.

 "I spent two hours with her and turns out, she's not even dating anyone." Five minutes before this conversation even started, Wonwoo learns that this coworker is named Jerri and if someone were to ask for a name tag, there is a different name printed on hers each time. He also learns that Jerri is the only reason why the shop will never be consistent with enforcing name tag regulations and sticks to a verbal name-memory basis than the usual glancing-down at the name tag. "She walked into the shop just to see the jewelry and winded up at the dresses."

Wonwoo doesn't know if he wants to continue hearing the everyday horrors of the sales floor, but Robert assures him, over the gap between their seats, that "It happens a lot, but we're surprised every time."

"She asked me to alter the dress, make the train longer," Jerri continues before she gestures a palm up towards Sam, "but Sam started asking her about her wedding, the lucky one in her life, and that's when we found out she's single with no intentions of marrying any time soon in the dress she was trying on."

"Bless Sam for finding out before we started altering the dress."

Wonwoo snorts with the straw in his mouth and his drink bubbles to near-explosion all over his lap. His heart should be sympathetic for what they have to suffer through, but he can't help but to first try to wrap his mind around the absurdity of some clients.

Robert crosses his legs, props an arm on his thigh, and turns to Wonwoo with eyebrows raised in anticipation that he hopes is not for him. "What about you, Wonwoo? Any odd clients? Crazy vows you had to write?"

He thinks Robert might have forgotten what happened a year ago, and he thinks it's safe to play it that way. So Wonwoo scratches his head, acknowledges that he should keep these stories of odd clients strictly within the walls of his office, but he can't help himself. It's the first time anyone asked him and Wonwoo has lived through seven, almost eight years with these stories never hearing themselves into spoken tales. "Well, one of the first things I usually ask is how the client met their significant other. Some are sweet, some are tragic. Some met as one-night stands that eventually became two nights, then three. And for some reason, they like to tell me, in great detail, all about the events of the first night."

When Wonwoo thinks back on it, he prefers to shove these types of clients into the back of his mind to forget, and he shivers bringing them back up. He apologizes, leans over to pluck and offer tissues, when Jerri chokes on her drink and throws herself over Sam's lap. She coughs up a, "I, personally, would not want my friends and family to know what I do there but if their significant other is okay with others knowing, I shouldn't be judging."

Robert asks for another story of a weird client, but his request hangs unfinished when Sam pats Jerri's back, waves for the front of the cafe, and calls someone over. Wonwoo shakes hands with a second tailor of the group, Antonio, and Sam fills him in about  _the_  client for the day and Wonwoo's bedroom client.

"Bedroom client?" Antonio quirks an eyebrow as he takes the spot besides Robert.

 

 

At the beginning end of the night, before Wonwoo offers to drive everyone back to the shop, he snaps his hand away the second warm skin meets his palm, and he instantly regrets it when Robert casts his eyes down, leaning his back against the wall of the cafe. Half of his face bathes in a shadow of store signs and cafe lights, plummets the other half in natural rays of the moon and headlights passing behind them. At the last end of the night, he forgives Robert for what happened a year ago, but it doesn't stop him from asking Sam to sit in the passenger's seat, further away from Wonwoo's air space.

 

 

When Wonwoo reaches home, he opens his planner again and adds another slot to fulfill in the new year.

He wants to start calling his boss by his actual name, to completely dispose the word "boss" as a way to call his own boss, especially after easing Wonwoo into being more comfortable in his own skin. He admits to himself that since the start, he never mentally addressed his boss by his real name because that's exactly what he is to Wonwoo--his boss is the boss of his work, his coworkers, and landed being the boss of his personal life.

  _No more "boss." Only Mariano._

\----

 "They're solid." Mingyu seals as the deal-breaker for Wonwoo's resolutions. There's no one else he would ask a second opinion about being able to follow through with these resolutions than Mingyu. "But if you end up falling behind, I can remind you."

"What about you? Do you have any?"

Mingyu shrugs, shakes his head, and Wonwoo knows this probably has never crossed his mind. He fills the static with pinching his lips together, eyes rolling from one end of the kitchen to the other. "I want to get back to exercising. I want to exercise with Seoyeon because when she's not in school, she just runs around the apartment. None of the kids here play with her because they're way older than her and none of the other guys have kids."

Wonwoo takes a mental step back to the time Mingyu gifted him with a picture of Seungcheol, Yujin, and a hidden third member of their home. "You showed me the picture, remember?"

Mingyu rubs his eyes, dips his fingers across his eyelids, until his hands flatten out and his face falls in, heavy and too easy. All those definite curves punctured by that single sentence, and Wonwoo is afraid of what he's in for. "She," he heaves a breath into his hand, picks his head up and refuses to look anywhere above the table, "she lost the baby."

His heart thumps once and he's afraid it won't beat again in his chest. Then it's banging into his temples, his ears, and he wishes this never happened, that he knew this already. He thinks he should have known this already. But it has to be a joke, this shouldn't happen to anyone. Seungcheol and Yujin never deserve this, no one does. He knows Seungcheol and Yujin will be the type of parents to never run low on love and kindness towards anyone, whether or not they're part of his family and despite running low on energy.

"I couldn't believe it, too, when he told me," Mingyu mumbles into his fingertips, as if he knows what Wonwoo is thinking. "The rest of the guys couldn't, either."

"How are they now?" hesitant off his lips because he doesn't know what else he should ask. He nearly has to cough it out because the silence passing between them sinks lower by the second and he has to force himself to say anything.

"I don't know," rumbles from the pit bottom of Mingyu's throat. "I really don't know, and I think I'm the last person they should be seeing."

Wonwoo knows he can't know everything right away, and it slaps him hard that he's not picking anything up, that something was wrong in the first place. The months should have added all up, if Wonwoo even showed that he cared, and they should have been really close to having their addition to the family. But he knows that's the price of being an ocean away from everyone else.

As if Mingyu reads Wonwoo's mind like his own, "Hey, don't feel bad about not knowing. They didn't tell us until a couple of weeks ago." Mingyu sighs again and he thinks the world lives off of the single breath pushing everyone down. "When Yujin would have went in for her first ultrasound."

 

 

Wonwoo wishes he checked how many sleep tablets he had left, tossing the empty bottle into the bin when a single pill doesn't rattle at his ears. But he keeps the moon company until she disappears into the gray of day, trades places with the sun and reminding him that it's another day where he just doesn't know.

\----

Mingyu crashes the notifications all over his phone the moment he wakes up and despite the morning bubbles about having a healthy breakfast, or having a breakfast at all, Wonwoo swirls his coffee at the counter, mixes his appetite long-forgotten into sunrise.

_07:20_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Don't forget to drink water_

_Actually don't forget to eat in general_

_I told you're mother i'm sending you these messages so please eat_

He has no doubt that Mingyu's messages brighten his screen with good intentions, no harm whatsoever, but any moment other than now would have been better. His mug brims half-brown, half-cold when he finalizes that the wrench in his gut fills his stomach more than actual food. He crawls back into his bed, under the covers, and sinks his head into one pillow. He grabs a second pillow and brings it close to his chest, burying his face into the plush.

He thinks it won't happen again and it's something that sheds more into a lie than anything he's ever twisted his own judgement into. The sting at his eyes is the first, burn sinking his lungs, suffocating his nose when he wants to breathe. He keeps his face away from the slow-creeping sun.

And he cries.

He cries because there's nothing he can do to beat the distance because no matter how far he reaches his hand out to his friends, no matter how much he tells himself that they're close, he's always a little too far away from them. He  _wants_  to care about them, he truly does, but he knows he can't know everything going on the second it happens.

But he missed out on everything in everyone's lives. He wasn't there for the announcement of Seoyeon, of Seungcheol proposing to Yujin. He leaned his back against the bathroom door at his apartment as Bohyuk bubbled out a rant about his first official kiss he and Yerin shared, never forgetting to mention their father walking with their mother under the cherry blossom trees that same day, as if the years never ached into their bones, but she needed to hold onto his arm for the entire walk. He struggled against the winter winds as Mingyu sobbed into the receiver after he and Jihye split, with parts of his cries cut off and the struggle to splice the syllables together. He can't picture what he would do if he was there as Soonyoung and Seokmin struggle to adopt a child or even accept Seungcheol and Yujin  _losing_  a child.

If he can go back in time to actually  _live_  those lasting fragments of everyone's lives with everyone else, he would take that chance because it means in years and decades into the future, he can step back and admire the view. He can talk to everyone about it because he was there, in the flesh, right beside them or cheering them on, supporting them from the top or making sure they don't knock themselves off the edge.

But how can he go back in time? How can he call these people his friends when he barely knows what's going on in their lives?

He wishes he can be there, offering an arm to his mother as she points for the longest way down the cherry blossoms. He wishes he can drive the hours down to Daegu, whisper some words of comfort and condolences to Seungcheol and Yujin. The image of caressing Yujin's hand, pulling Seungcheol in a tight embrace, and telling them something, anything, because at least he can show them, in the flesh, that he still cares about them; it all haunts him.

He hates himself even more at the reverie of Seoyeon skipping down under the branches, Bohyuk chasing after her, and Yerin trailing not far behind, holding down the hat she borrowed from his brother so it doesn't flit away with the breeze. Bohyuk barrels some growling noises through the path as he chases after Seoyeon, barely reaching her so he can pretend she's winning this escape. His father will laugh besides Mingyu because Seoyeon can really run and this is the most he's seen Bohyuk exercise since his high school days. His mother will fret about Seoyeon losing her way out the path, but he assures her that she will find her way back, that Bohyuk and Yerin will catch up to her sooner or later. And after all of that, Mingyu will look back at Wonwoo and his mother, abandons his smile to linger on Wonwoo's even longer.

He curls his fingers around the pillow even deeper, shifts it up to his eyes and hopes that it will make any part of this fantasy disappear, if not true. And maybe he  _does_  want to go back. He's not sure if it will be permanent, if he'll have to start over, throw himself back another eight years, because the only definite thing he knows is that his writing will suffer more at home than in the States. And Wonwoo left home because what he wanted to do was nowhere near him.

His phone dings and his lungs sear a quick inhale, preparing himself for whatever message comes at him. When his eyes focus enough to read Mingyu's name, asking if he ate breakfast, he flicks his phone back onto the nightstand. He wants to talk to Mingyu, that's another definite thing he's honest about, but what if Mingyu tells him about all the things he doesn't but should know? 

\----

For the rest of the week, Wonwoo swipes off Mingyu's messages whenever they pop up on his phone. Appointments, drop-ins bathe in less light in his office and so do his attempts at talking to anyone in the building. He jots a quiet note to try better for the next day, for ruining his new year's resolution days before the new year starts. He just prays that he can pull something through, strike up some motivation that gets him going, even if it's the smallest step in the right direction.

He starts bringing his work to his apartment, wedding vows controlling the clock more than the nature of time itself and the second hand. He knows he should stop, save all of his work for the next day or whenever he's survived pierces of rain and snow slitting his lips dry. But this way, he won't have Mingyu's voice rewinding a horrible tune of sad news, and that's all he wants at the moment.

 _It's not Mingyu's fault_ , he chides himself, as he teeters between replying to Mingyu today or not. It's not as if Mingyu caused the miscarriage, or the ocean between Wonwoo and home. It's not as if Mingyu forced him to take the job years ago.

But he wants time alone, and he only wishes he told this to Mingyu before leaving all everything ignored and unread, besides his name. 

\----

It's Wednesday when New Year's Eve proffers the shop a few extra hours of rest, and Wonwoo stays the whole while as Sam locks up the doors and security guards file their way deeper into the walls. On their way to the parking garage, she asks about his plans for the countdown and touches upon how her children will be trying out sparklers for the first time to spell out  _2032_. She invites Wonwoo over to her home, but he shakes his head, turns her down without forgetting to give back a steady, cold steam of thank you's.

Wonwoo still wants to spend some time to himself. He's not sure if he can rile some courage up to even glance at Mariano's texts of New Year's greetings if it means having to scroll past Mingyu's recent messages. He's not sure if he can even talk to Mingyu with the promise to help him keep up with his resolutions, while Wonwoo's progress spirals downhill before the road even started. He's not sure if he'll be able to handle the disappointment, all messages going to vain.

 

 

He props a book at his knees, leaning his back against the headboard and toying with the corner of the page. His phone illuminates the nightstand, buzzing across the wood, and he contemplates answering Mingyu until the drop of a voicemail kills it. He swallows hard when he fooled himself into picking it up this time.

The benefit of voicemail, though, is that he won't be talking to the real Mingyu but the Mingyu left in the voicemail. So he presses the message and nothing in the world could prepare his heart for Seoyeon's voice.

"Uncle Wonwoo," her voice hollows into his ears, drags down each syllable from the lost light in her voice, and Wonwoo closes his book to dry his eyes and cheeks. He blinks quickly to rid the haze out of his eyes, but he chokes out a sob because ignoring Mingyu meant ignoring Seoyeon. He completely threw aside his promise to tell her a story every day or whenever their hours coincide, and he let her down. Is that all he's been doing lately? Letting everyone down? "I miss seeing you on the computer." Both of his hands cup the speaker to his ear, sending the volume a few notches higher because the twenty seconds in this voicemail remain the longest seconds of his life, and Seoyeon doesn't seem to want to say anything into eternity. "I think Daddy does, too."

It's the two sentences that has Wonwoo swallowing down his gasps for air, between each of his, "I'm so sorry, Mingyu," "I should have said something," "How do I explain it to Seoyeon?"

His shallow breaths ghost to the other side of his apartment because Mingyu isn't saying anything, either. Maybe Wonwoo really did mess up this time and Mingyu will huff out the most exhausted sigh and tell him that he never wants to talk to him again. Wonwoo can't will his heart to forget about the heart in Mingyu's home, how he brought home to New York with Seoyeon by his side.

But it's a whistle of a sigh, nothing too sharp at the ends or thick in the middle, that brings the line back up. "I'm so glad you're not hurt."

Wonwoo blows his nose and stabilizes his breathing enough when he hears a feeble voice away from the receiver. He brings his knees to his chest, rests his forehead at the valley in between, and watches the tears drop, stain, drench the sheets at hearing Seoyeon's voice for the first time in days.

 

 

Mingyu continues the call without seeing each other, even though Seoyeon whines that she misses "seeing Uncle Wonwoo on the computer, Daddy." Mingyu explains that Uncle Wonwoo isn't feeling well, that he doesn't want anyone to see him so sick.

And they talk again, the entirety of the past week condensed into heading to Anyang again for Christmas, Seoyeon playing with her cousins long after the moon settled into the sky, and Mingyu meeting up with supervisors. Wonwoo tells him about the obvious distance between all of them and himself, how they know it but don't say it. He admits that he never replied to Mingyu in the past few days because he was afraid Mingyu would tell him something he doesn't know, and the only think he knows is that he should have known and he won't be able to bear it.

He's not sure if the tension uncoiling his bones, igniting the ache in his muscles, and the struggle to keep his eyes open are from his lack of taking care of himself or from Mingyu agreeing with him. Mingyu bridges the thought with how everything changed after separating, how it's difficult to message each other right away of something that happened and often times, more than they would like to actually grant as true, "we forget to even say anything because we're so busy now. It's not your fault, Wonwoo. It's happening to all of us. It's been happening for a long time now."

The last part plummets to the pit of his stomach. He should have known it's been happening a lot longer than he would like to believe. He feels so stupid for being blind at something he can't even see from thousands of miles.

"Is it still okay if Uncle Wonwoo tells me a story?" Seoyeon whispers, shooing the dreadful conversation away from potential longing for the past.

"Ask him, ask him," Mingyu whispers back with as much enthusiasm as his daughter. Wonwoo pictures Seoyeon sitting on his lap, Mingyu wrapping his arms around her shoulder to sway her side to side.

"Uncle Wonwoo," she whispers hard into the phone, as if she doesn't want Mingyu to hear. "Can you tell me a story?"

"Do you still remember what happened?" Wonwoo keeps his voice down, wanting Mingyu to hear it, too, after remembering his complaint about being left out from the stories.

"The angry lady wants the jar, and, and. I don't know."

He chuckles into the receiver, curls himself more into the sheets. He feels his heartbeat lulling against the palm of his hand, no more thumping hard and pounding at his temple. He listens to Mingyu's muffled hum and maybe this time, Mingyu is pecking the top of Seoyeon's head, still swaying her as he hums a familiar song. Wonwoo's voice croaks, at first, "So the lady is angry, right? She's trying to lower the price of the jar that catches her attention, the one with white powder inside. She asks for five-hundred thousand won for it when the jar costs a million. But the man won't give up, though, because he says it won't take a month for her to gain it all back.

"And she takes the jar for the million because of that. The boy is still crying, even after his mom let his hand go."

"Is the powder magical?"

"Maybe it is, Seoyeon." He twists his lips, contemplating if it should be magical or not, and if it is magical, what would it do? "But we'll find out later, okay? I'll tell you one more customer that came that day and you tell me what you think about the powder."

Before Wonwoo can even continue, Seoyeon answers his question. "I think it's magical. What do you think?"

"I think so, too." Because he's not sure what to do at this point. "What type of magic do you think it does?" When Seoyeon can't decide what the powder does, he assures her that it's okay.

"So the second customer of the day is looking for a jar with yellow powder. The customer doesn't care about the price; he just wants the jar. The shopkeeper brings the yellow jar from the back and puts it on the counter. The shopkeeper is still counting the bills when the customer leaves. He watches the customer open the jar and swallow the powder dry."

"Ew, that's gross." If Wonwoo was at the other side of the call, he would send skittering fingertips up her ribs, unwinding her curl into the seat in disgust. 

\----

The client bundles herself in a scarf, almost tapes over most of her mouth and covers her words into the cloth. Wonwoo chuckles to himself when he asks about when she met her fiancée, how long have they known each other, if she still buskers.

"It was so weird," she begins, hands curling on her lap. He watches her shut her mouth for a moment, circles of peppermint candy surfacing on her cheeks. "I didn't notice her until my third session, but she was there since the start. After that, she always helped me pack everything together. Usually, I'd head home but after the sixth, I think, she asked if I wanted to go to the coffee shop with her. And since then, all of my sessions ended with a warm cup.

"If I'm counting right, it was my twentieth session that I sang a song I wrote for her, but I didn't say it was actually for her. She asked me for the song, I told her the title. My next session, I was packing up and she told me she couldn't find the song anywhere.

"Yeah, I know I said I wrote a song, so it must mean I like to write and I'm happy with what I write, right?" She drops her smile without a beat passing and shakes her head. "I still think about the song as the memory that makes me cringe the most and sometimes, it's surprising that I haven't thrown up because of it."

The client disappears behind Wonwoo's eyelids as his eyes screw shut, doubles over the desk when she finally breaks the stone of her face and their laughs jumble together. He apologizes for laughing once his lungs steady enough to catch his breath, because he's sure someone else might find the lyrics amazing, but she squeezes out a, "I sure hope not."

"Will you be singing at your wedding, then?"

She shudders the disgust out her face, but she sticks her tongue out. "No, no, no. Everyone knows I wrote her a song and that's the song I know they're going to ask me. I can handle being embarrassed in front of her, but not in front of my whole family  _and_  hers." Wonwoo wipes the tear from his eyes and he notices it's been a while since he last laughed so hard, he cried. She swipes a finger at the open space between her and Wonwoo, over the desk, "Between writer and writer, most of the earlier stuff is so embarrassing, right?"

Wonwoo agrees, and it's another level of comfort to know someone doesn't delude themselves that every piece they wrote deserves praise from every single person on, above, and below the earth. 

\----

Wonwoo perches at his balcony, legs slotting between the rods, and swings his feet over the stories. If Mingyu was here, he would slot his legs through the railings, too, and pretend to kick his slippers off. He'll laugh at Wonwoo for thinking his slipper will really fly off, and Wonwoo will wrestle the slipper from his hands before it can even comprehending its power of claiming a victim down below.

He wishes Mingyu was here. And maybe Bohyuk, too, can fare the transition of leaving home better than he ever will.

Perhaps Bohyuk will kick out his neighbor off their residence and every night will always end with the two of them sitting at their balconies, racing their feet but going nowhere between the railings, and let the moon try to decipher their conversations. His brother will try to squeeze his face between the rods, but it's useless because his face is too darn wide. Wonwoo will want to reach over, swat his face, despite knowing that's also useless and his arms won't reach unless he sacrifices himself, hopping to one balcony and the next. Bohyuk's balcony door will creak open, yellow light tracing every crease on the back of his shirt, and Yerin will slip in the spot besides him, lean onto his shoulder, and mumble how cold it is before asking Wonwoo if he's cold.

Their parents can alternate sleeping in either one of their apartments, and maybe they'll stay in Wonwoo's more often as long as Seoyeon runs around. He knows his parents love Seoyeon like a grandchild of their own, and he can't picture a more perfect arrangement than what this daydream offers. He imagines Mingyu, again, sitting beside him, and maybe he will chance leaning his head on his shoulder.

An ache settles into his chest like a new home, and he wishes he had someone to sit with, swing their legs over the floor of his balcony. Instead, Wonwoo sinks his face into the rods, listening to the resident floors above him nursing a tune, breaking up some syllables and hitting all the wrong notes.

He offers himself more attempts to talk to his coworkers outside of Sam, eat somewhere for lunch or sit at the break room with a small group of them who also happens to take their breaks when he does. Conversations with his coworkers always abandons him stranded and pitted against everyone else when they steer towards significant others, although everyone knows Wonwoo doesn't have someone he can officially call special or his, they tease him about Mingyu. They do this all the time, babying him with jokes, despite always having someone in the circle a few years his junior and never entering the building until he kisses the cheek of someone everyone has to squint to realize it's the woman he's been dating since he started working here. He brushes it off each time, excusing it as homesickness, since he's usually around bigger groups like this when he's back at home.

But there's something about Mingyu that makes him feel safe, understood. His heart never flinches into unease because he doesn't even have to open his mouth or whimper out a cry for Mingyu to know something is wrong.

Later into his hours, Wonwoo notices the hour must be a busy one at the other side, but he messages Mingyu, knowing he will read it when he he has the chance. It's three simple words of  _I miss you_ and nothing else. No names that might deceive the message for someone else, no other words to conceal how much or how little he does, no dreads for the expanse of the ocean. He doesn't mention Seoyeon this time because it's a given between the two of them, with how much Seoyeon says she misses him.

He shuts the curtains over the balcony door, flips to the bookmark in the book he started after he returned to his office but hasn't picked up since. He flicks the edge of his bookmark, and he never noticed the white pages of his book smeared with gray, smudges of graphite from the sketch of Manhattan Bridge Mingyu left behind.

 

 

_23:23_

_**Mingyu** _

_I miss you too_

\----

Wonwoo can't believe he's stepping into another store where most of the customers are half his height, but he convinces himself that it's for a good reason. But Lego doesn't discriminate when it comes to height because the second he steps in, he might not actually be that tall. He attempts to reach at the pillar holding millions of blocks, for a girl who wants a piece higher up than the one stored in an obvious gape storing the  _exact same piece_  but a couple of feet lower. He gives up when her mother comes by to apologize to Wonwoo and explain to her that "the pieces are down here, sweetie."

He stares up in the Architecture aisle, between London and New York City. Mingyu has never been to London, for all he knows, and there wouldn't be anything new Mingyu would notice if he did buy the New York City series.

A shuffle or two across the floor beside him is pushed to the back of his mind and he turns, his heart jumping out of his chest, to a man in a yellow apron. "I know I work here and I shouldn't be saying this, but the New York City one is cool and all, even if the Statue of Liberty is the size of a penny. I personally like the Shanghai set because the most satisfying part is twisting the Shanghai tower."

Wonwoo can't help the giggle at that comment and reconsiders buying the Shanghai set over New York City. Mingyu has been to both cities, and Shanghai left him wanting to go back again. Shanghai was a summer trip, hosted by the school, and he took the chance when Junhui and Minghao said they were going, too. "Is that so?"

The man shrugs, bringing his hand up to tilt the Shanghai set up and read the pieces count. "Yeah, to me, at least. Depends on who you're getting it for, really." Wonwoo is glad the man doesn't dig further questions about who he's buying these for, makes use of the silence by flapping the price banner hanging from the shelf. "I'll be honest with you. I bought this set out of impulse just to twist the Shanghai Tower."

 

 

He discovers the beauty of three-dimensional puzzles when the same man helping him decide on buying the Shanghai Tower, "and don't worry, you're not betraying New York City," offered him that piece of information if he's looking for something more detailed. "It's like the Architecture Series, but you only create the outside layer, the part everyone sees."

\----

He glances down at the box in his hands before stepping inside the post office. Everything inside must look like it's just for Seoyeon, not for Mingyu's birthday. He's taped every edge, bubble-wrapped each box with at least three layers, and threw in packing peanuts for the heck of it. He's not sure how much handle and care the world will give him, flying thousands of miles with no doubt that it won't be a smooth trip, so he writes a warning of fragile items in both languages.

\----

It's the fifth of April again at his side of the globe when Mingyu demands, without even peeling a single centimeter of tape off, what Wonwoo shipped to him.

Mingyu sits at the dining table, Seoyeon's eyes tracing down the box-cutter slice the tape with ease and mouthing out the letters of Wonwoo's name in English. "Thank you, Wonwoo," after his meager greeting of happy birthday. "No way," Mingyu gasps, eyes widening and mouth never closing. Wonwoo pretends to reach over and shut his lips with the tip of his finger. "You're kidding me. It's not really inside."

Seoyeon reaches for Shanghai and Mingyu lets her hold onto it, only to have her shake the box up and down and the blurred tumble of pieces shaking under the cardboard makes him and Mingyu wince. "It sounds real," she confirms, only to have Mingyu ask for the box back.

"You can't be real," he murmurs, reaching deeper into the box and unwrapping the bubble wrap around the three-dimensional puzzle set of New York City. West side, to be exact, because it had the highest ratings from the website he ordered them from. "This one-Shanghai was enough, Wonwoo, oh my-"

"It's for when you want to revisit New York without leaving Seoul," Wonwoo snorts before Mingyu robs the chance of reprimanding him for buying him something.

"That's cheesy, but I'll take-wait, there's another?" Mingyu peeks into the box, pulls out the last set for him. It's a second set of three-dimensional puzzles, of the Burj Khalifa. "How is this-remember the Dubai trip?"

Of course, Wonwoo remembers the Dubai trip. It's the only reason why he even bought the set. He never bought a plane ticket or dreamed of going there, but Mingyu dragged him into the school meeting during their winter break. As much as Wonwoo wanted to explore a city in a different continent, most of the trip paired architecture majors together in the hotel rooms and plane rides, and he wanted to spend time with his family.

Seoyeon bounces in her seat, reaching for the closest box and and asking Mingyu if they can start building it. "Do you want to see a picture of this building? I went here before and it's so tall."

Mingyu promises that if Wonwoo doesn't want to watch them assemble the Burj Khalifa, he can end the call right now and get some sleep. But Wonwoo keeps the call going, waiting to see how big Mingyu's smile grows as he pulls every sheet of the puzzle out the box and asks Seoyeon if she can start poking each piece out. Mingyu starts off with a tiny smile veering on his lips, drips of concern and patience weighing the corners down when Seoyeon brings two pieces the size of her finger to her eyes and nearly shoves them together. A glow casts into Mingyu's eyes, evaporates the concern off his lips, when Seoyeon holds up the pieces fitted together into one.

Soon, Seoyeon stands up from her seat to plop on Mingyu's lap, her hands occasionally reaching out to grab the foundation Mingyu's working on with his own hands. And whenever she wants to steal the piece from him, he raises his hand higher and further off from her. At one point, the top of her head collides with Mingyu's lower jaw and Wonwoo has to turn away so Seoyeon won't see the grimace on his face as she giggles, turns her head to see if Wonwoo is giggling along with her. Mingyu rubs his hand at his chin, not before dodging Seoyeon's grabbing hands again.

Instead, he leans down and kisses the top of her head. But Seoyeon persists without getting up from his lap, and Wonwoo wonders if she ever will.

\----

The next day, Mingyu sends him a picture of the finished product, of the Burj Khalifa standing on the glass table under the television. He pinches the screen into spots away from the building and zooms to a new line of picture frames surrounding the base. He notices a picture of Seoyeon situated on his shoulders, of hugging Seoyeon after she twirled in the Cinderella dress, and the same picture that hangs in his office of Seoyeon wearing his glasses as he squints into the void. 

He feels a little better having a place in under Mingyu's home roof, within the walls of picture frames.

 

 

"Why New York City?"

The client's sudden question stops him from writing the next part they agreed on, something about petals floating down and away when spring is about to arrive. He thinks he might have heard the client incorrectly, but he's not too sure. No one really asks him anything outside of his work and purpose of his office. "I'm sorry?"

 "Why did you pick New York City?" Wonwoo really can't supply any other reason, besides the office being open for rent in the perfect spot for his type of craft. "Did you travel far from where you used to live?" Wonwoo offers a weak nod and the image of Bohyuk and Mingyu comforting his mother at the airport from years ago hits him hard. "How far?"

"I'm from Korea," Wonwoo's voice diminishes, "across the ocean and across the country."

He scowls, the absence of the client's pen tapping forcing the silence louder between them. "I can't imagine doing that. How do you do it?"

 Wonwoo finally stops twirling the pen in his hand. He asks himself how he managed to move away from home, his family, his friends, Seoul air, Changwon petals, Anyang busy streets, smell of Busan when the guys visited Jihoon one time. "It was hard. It still is, honestly. I didn't realize how much I missed everyone until I went back a year ago."

"Why don't you go back again? For a longer time?" Wonwoo speculates taking advice from a stranger who paid him for advice on how to go about his wedding vows, but one peek at the planner under his laptop has him considering it.

"Work, this office. I don't know, I thought one month was enough, but it wasn't."

\----

Seoyeon waves a white card in her hand, bounding from one corner of his laptop to the other. "I made a card for you, Uncle Wonwoo," she announces once she finds a comfortable position on Mingyu's lap. He brushes the billowing frays waiting for gravity to press them back down on her forehead, pulling her hair tie off. She waves a narrow piece of pink, resolution clearing everything up once finally stops moving her hand, and her fingers clutch onto an origami carnation Wonwoo used to fold when he was a kid.

Mingyu doesn't speak a word, surrenders the conversation entirely to Seoyeon. He barely nods along, offers quiet smiles whenever she peers up at him. She leans back into his chest with the cards in her hand, beaming up at Mingyu and pushing one side of her face against his neck. "I have two cards."

Seoyeon excuses herself because "my shirt got ink," and Mingyu wants her to change into pajamas. When Seoyeon disappears off the screen, Mingyu turns back, willing to look at anything and anywhere besides the camera. His shoulders cave in, head hanging so low that Wonwoo almost warns him that he'll hit his head on the table.

"Is something wrong?" he risks the question. Perhaps it's the two cards, how Seoyeon should have one card just for Mingyu.

Mingyu shakes his head, hands disappearing into his lap and tucked under his knees, to stop himself from ending the conversation right now and leaving the question unanswered. "Is it weird that Seoyeon sees you like a parent? Like you're her dad?"

Uncertainty of how Mingyu would take his answer starts to weave its way at his lungs, shoves any other answer down his throat. "Not really, why?"

He turns his head back and his eyes search for something behind him, permission to keep talking or Seoyeon's footsteps treading down the hallway. "Because you're not her dad," his voice starts off low, the same tone of disappointment when Wonwoo left his home. "Or I thought it's because two years ago, she came home from daycare crying because the kids made fun of her for having one card." Wonwoo wants to say something to get Mingyu to look up and talk about something else. "And last year, her teacher told me she didn't even want to make a card."

But Wonwoo stays quiet, even when a tear falls from Mingyu's cheek, because he can't run across the ocean and thumb it off himself. He wishes he can keep the card Seoyeon made for him, despite meeting just a year ago because of the ocean; it might actually mean the world if he can. "Well, it's really amazing how you can hold up all of this. And little kids don't know. I bet they'd make a thousand cards just to have a thousand cards." Mingyu nods once, but his shoulders won't move a centimeter and he won't say a word. He stretches his shirt to his eyes, smearing the tears off, and Wonwoo wants to do something to make everything stop. Mingyu has endured enough pain already during their seven minutes. "Can you read what she wrote?"

Mingyu sighs and gives him a more certain nod this time. He starts off with his own card, voice rumbling from the base of his throat, confining his airways to that single sigh. " _Look at my flower, Daddy! I drew the apartment and the garden in the front. If you look close, you can see you and me in the window. I love you, Daddy._

"And yours says,  _You are not my dad but I think you are like Daddy because you love me a lot and make me and Daddy smile. I love you, Uncle Wonwoo. I wish you are here so you can tell me more stories._ "

Mingyu cracks the first smile since the start of the video call that has him struggling to keep Wonwoo in sight, and he wants to capture this moment and hang it up somewhere. He flips Wonwoo's card front and back, chuckling as he fingers off the last drops at his eyes. "Soonyong and Seokmin were screaming because the card wasn't for them, and Junhui and Minghao wouldn't look at me. But you know, they were all joking around and wanted to make Seoyeon laugh." 

\----

The night before his flight, Wonwoo props his phone against the stack of books on his nightstand, angled to expose the empty suitcase opened on the floor. Mingyu combs through Seoyeon's wet hair, splitting and  _pewing_  his tongue at drops that land on his mouth.

"Seoyeon, I think you need a hair cut," Mingyu suggests as he winces at the knot yanking her hair and head back with the comb. "Do you want to get your hair cut? We can go to the salon tomorrow." Seoyeon's answer winds around the borders of the question, only mentioning how she likes it when the lady sprays her hair. Mingyu's fingers freeze, but the smile grows. He leans down, pecks her temple, and returns to the daunting task of combing her long hair. "You're going to Seattle, right?" Wonwoo hums as he calculates how many shirts he should bring if he won't even be there for a week. "It means you're getting closer to Korea."

Wonwoo tries to laugh along with the joke, but six hours by plane closer to home is never close enough when there's still the ocean to venture over. He lays out shirts over his bed, flattens sweatshirts into tighter folds. His eyes glue onto a shirt that he doesn't remember ever buying and brings it over to the phone, holding it up for Mingyu to take a quick scan at.

"Hey, that's my shirt," Mingyu snickers.

"Did you forget it?" Seoyeon raises herself higher on Mingyu's lap to confirm it is, indeed, Mingyu's shirt. "Is he going to wear it like a dress?"

Wonwoo hopes the lighting is bad enough to hide the heat at his cheeks, and Mingyu ruffling her hair under the towel is a sufficient sign for his hopes. "My shirts are dresses to you, Seoyeon. For Uncle Wonwoo, it's a regular shirt because he's tall, like me."

"I'll give it to you the next time I see you." Wonwoo heads back to the closet with the shirt, to hang it in the untouched depths to remind himself not to wear it and it's not his shirt. But before he even slides the door open, Wonwoo steps back, lays the shirt on his bed. The shirt seems to be the type to comfort nightmares with the most soothing touch, and Mingyu won't know.

 

 

Wonwoo sends Mingyu a picture of the clouds parting, mentions how the weather here is a lot colder than in New York at this time of the year. 

_9:22_

**_Mingyu_ **

_Please take me there_

 

 

When Wonwoo hears about Seattle, it's a city that runs on coffee drips as much as rain drops, umbrellas knocking against one another, and barely a tease of sunlight at his eyes. But what he learns is that Seattle at this time of the year runs on faint streaks of gray clouds bathing in cerulean, winds flirting with the hem of his t-shirt after he zipped open his jacket, and the sun breaking between the trees. The airport runs dry of bustling plane tickets, name tags, longing hugs that last until one person has to hurry past ticketing. His name on a poster, bright blue letters and a drawing of the Empire State Building, catches his attention from the arrivals door, and he starts to hurry over once Alex does, too.

"I can't believe you're really here." The back of Wonwoo's neck squeezes more than Alex's voice from her chest as she rocks him back and forth in each other's arms. "Thank you for coming."

He bites back the words about how she paid for his ticket and his hotel after much debate over the phone and thanks her for telling him to visit the other side of the country.

 

 

Coffee from five in the morning still surges in his veins, so he agrees on heading to Chihuly when Wonwoo settles into his hotel and drops everything off. He zips his jacket back up to his neck and asks, not to be rude, about why he had to come here to help with her vows, instead of doing it over the phone.

"Well, I met my significant other not long after moving here," she starts off, stopping the car at a red light. "I kind of fell in love with her like I fell in love with Seattle. I want to mention that in my wedding vows, and I thought I should let you see it yourself."

\----

If someone offered him the chance, Wonwoo would love to live in the Central Library with its cross-hatches of slanting glass, sun rays beating down on turning pages, and windows of the world that is Seattle across library floors and stairs. He sits down at one of the pink seats past the entrance and wonders about the designs, brainstorming of each slate, point, corner of this building.

He wonders what it would be like to take Mingyu to this library. They can let Seoyeon roam free, read books on the floor, or even sneak behind shelves when they tell her it's time to go. He shakes himself out of those thoughts when Alex offers to check out books for him during his stay and "I'll return them for you when you go back home. It's the least I can do for making you come here."

 

Wonwoo flattens a sticky note from the hotel's front desk as his bookmark, wedged halfway into the book. He treats himself to a long, hot shower and changes into pajamas that are velvet to his skin against the harsh reality that he's nowhere near his own apartment, comforts of his own germs on his sheets.

He crosses his legs on the bed, accepts the video call from Mingyu. But the second the screen loads up Mingyu's side, it's stuttering and scratching all over the speakers. Wonwoo wonders if there's something wrong with the connection.

"Are you okay?" Wonwoo asks, bringing the screen closer to catch any visible symptoms of a cold or allergies, waning internet a plane ride from what he's used to having.

Mingyu's lips fall open and he swallows hard. He squints at the phone again, at Mingyu's eyes avoiding the camera's direction. "You're, um, you're wearing my shirt."

He looks down, at the shirt he thought he wouldn't wear in front of Mingyu. His mouth pulls out any excuse before his brain does and explains how "it's so soft and-I can go change right now-"

Mingyu shakes his head and the room flares hot against Wonwoo's neck and he wonders how he's still breathing. "No, no, it is really soft. Keep it on. Or keep it. I still have your shirt here, too, and Seoyeon wears them sometimes, so it's even."

 

 

Once they bid each other goodnight and a good rest of the day, Wonwoo douses cold water at his cheeks for a couple of minutes, draining the pink off his cheeks, but it's useless. It's useless when he sleeps with an extra beat of his heart wedged between his breaths. 

\----

He wonders, between suspended splashes of pink and purple amidst the green, if this is what falling in love is like. It's the last place left unmarked on Alex's list, and it's also the place where she wants to marry her significant other.

"I would love to get married here," Wonwoo gasps when the trees part way for the start of of stone steps, spouts of grass and clovers, lush green among the brown below and vibrancy all around.

"You're not married?" The surprise washing over her voice surprises Wonwoo, but he shakes his head, mentally slaps himself in the face for slipping something out like that. He should know by now that every time a client dissects into his life, discover he's not married himself, he blinks back their attempts to fabricate their faces of distaste with, the rest of the words in the appointment comprising of only hesitant replies to each of his questions, and requests to talk to his boss. "You must be really good at writing, then, since you can write something you haven't experienced before." He shrugs again, wonders if Alex throws him under a different light, not exactly a good one. Maybe she regrets asking him for help in the first place, taking all his time and her money to bring along fake talent, emotions. "Are you dating anyone, then?"

"I'm not dating anyone at the moment." Wonwoo would choke at that question, but he hates how stark sunshine and the blush at his ears, cheeks, seething up his neck must be more noticeable and pink than the flowers they just strolled past. "We should be talking about you, thought, since you're the one getting married."

Nature fills in the chatter that their own words can't suffice; soft ruffle of damp leaves, occasional chirps of birds overhead, dry rustle of branches only centimeters above their heads.

Wonwoo snaps the silence to drop the question. "Do you see me differently now that you know I'm not married or dating?"

"Why would I?" It's a genuine smile that Alex passes on, one that hasn't been damaged in any way before and after asking the question. "I'm just thinking about where to take wedding photos." Alex bumps his shoulder at him and balance flees from every fiber of his body, nearly sending him tripping into a bush. "You're obviously good at what you do and if you like how you're living, you should keep doing it like that. It might change, who knows, really? I hope that if it does change, it's because you want it to."

Wonwoo's mind trails back to his resolutions, to being honest with his heart. He tries this once, and the "Thank you, Alex" barely forms over the hesitant steps under low-hanging trees. "I really appreciate it."

 

At the end of their first round, Wonwoo agrees to walk around one more time with her. "I can walk here everyday if I could," he replies when she affirms if he's sure about it.

"We'll walk around and you'll tell me which spots look good for pictures," Alex explains, "I want a second opinion and I trust yours."

 

 

Wonwoo is thankful for the balcony in his hotel room. There's something about the buzzing glow from down below that makes the stars above less lonely, even with Wonwoo's own company. His bags are stuffed to the zippers, returning home with a little more than what he brought over, and he wouldn't mind laying down extra cash for the heavy baggage. He leans on the railing, sighing into the night, and wonders how Mingyu would like Seattle. No chances of anyone slipping on ice or worrying too much of Seoyeon's white jackets mixing into the snow.

He calls Alex once he heads back inside. He thanks her for taking him to Seattle because he's "usually stuck in New York. I never thought I'd leave and experience everything I did here." He admits that he can truly see how she fell in love with Seattle, that seeing the city himself helps.

She thanks him once more for his time, for putting up with her. She hopes she can send him an invitation to the wedding, "but if you're busy that day, I won't take it personally."

He finishes his last night in Seattle with the desire to stay one more day.

\----

Wonwoo's welcome back to New York is a picture of a yellow dandelion pinched under Mingyu's fingers. Grass spanning between every corner until it's a smudge of Seoyeon's backpack on the green when he swipes for the next picture. At the third dandelion, Wonwoo gives in and asks what's with all of these dandelions.

"Every time Seoyeon comes home from daycare now, she brings me a dandelion." Mingyu cups one in his hand, the stem slitting between the curves of his palms. "And yesterday, Seokmin was sad because Seoyeon didn't pick a dandelion for him. So the next day, Seokmin came in with one at his ear."

The next day, Wonwoo receives another dandelion, and he doesn't forget to send back a picture of a dandelion breaking through sidewalk cracks on his way to his office.

\----

The twenty-seventh of May in Mingyu's border of the Pacific shoots his day with artificial sunlight, bathes his entire laptop white, until it focuses to a few heads smaller than Mingyu's. He leans his head on his hand as Seoyeon throws her arms up, asking to lift her onto his lap without any words. Another girl tries to climb on and he eases her onto his thigh, right beside Seoyeon.

"This is Jaewon," Mingyu introduces the smaller girl with short hair and a red headband. "This is Jaewon. She's Seoyeon's classmate."

At the word "classmate," a boy pops up from Seoyeon's side of the chair. "And this is Hansol, like our Hansol. He's her classmate, too." Mingyu ruffles his hair and stops to lean back, away from the camera, muttering a, "Where's Jaehyun?"

Seoyeon peeks in the same direction as Mingyu when a female's voice rises from the distance. "He's still eating his cake over here." She giggles and there's a smile Wonwoo has never seen before on Mingyu's face. The relief at the corner of his lips, how it doesn't melt a slight after he turns back to ruffle Hansol's hair again, adjust Jaewon's headband, and kiss the back of Seoyeon's head. The content flashing at his eyes when he looks down at each one of the kids. Maybe it's Mingyu hoping to hear the same sound from Jihye. He wonders if Mingyu has met anyone he wants to marry or perhaps have a second child with. This should make Wonwoo feel better about being happy, but it just leaves his thoughts wanting to spit out bitter.

Mingyu nods around an, "Ah, okay." He waves for someone off the screen. "My friend is calling from America. Do you want to say hi?"

At that, Wonwoo is greeted by two women, one shying her face behind her palm and the other using both hands to wave at Wonwoo.

"Hi, Wonwoo, I'm Soyoung, Jaewon and Jaehyun's mother." She drops her hands to plant them on her thighs, lean forward to steal a clearer view of the screen.

The other woman reveals the pink tint on her lips and behind her palm. "And I'm Yoonhee, Hansol's mother. Are you really in America right now?"

Wonwoo doesn't know how to deal with the sudden attention on him and he hopes nothing comes out too flustered for embarrassment. "Yes, I am. I love in New York."

"You're so far away," Soyoung gasps.

Seoyeon rises higher in Mingyu's lap, twisting her body and planting her hand on the backrest to look up at Soyoung. "Auntie Soyoung, Daddy and I went to New York to see Uncle Wonwoo and we went on an airplane."

"Did you really?" Yoohee gapes at Seoyeon, brushing strands to the sides of her face. She pinches Seoyeon's cheek once and Wonwoo wishes he can do the same, too. "Were you scared of the airplane?"

Seoyeon shakes her head, and Soyoung brushes something off Seoyeon's face. "You must miss Uncle Wonwoo, then." Seoyeon nods and asks Mingyu if they can return to New York tomorrow.

Wonwoo's head falls in his hands and he hopes the flush of his face never reaches to their end of the call.

 

They have to end it not long after because Mingyu promised the kids he would take them to the movie theater and watch the new Disney movie. "I don't know what movie, though, but Seoyeon said she wanted to go with her friends and aunts."

 

Wonwoo lies in bed, regrets not even robbing the chance to tell Seoyeon a happy birthday.

\----

Morning has yet to breach his apartment, but the day unravels with his phone ringing earlier than his alarm and his eyes blinking the sleep to read  _Mingyu_. He taps on the green button, scowls when he realizes it's a video call and Mingyu and Seoyeon would be greeted with the nightmare of Wonwoo's drastic morning face.

A cheer, too high-pitched and too early into the day, pierces his ears and he turns the camera away from the frown he forces to muster into flattened lips. "Seoyeon, shh, Uncle Wonwoo just woke up," Mingyu whispers.

"Good morning, Uncle Wonwoo," Seoyeon's whisper is forceful from her lips. "Thank you for the Cinderella dress."

At the mention of the dress, Wonwoo sits up, flicks his light on, and fixes his glasses on his nose. He was hoping the box would arrive on the exact day and he would have greeted Seoyeon by then. "You're welcome, Seoyeon. I'm sorry it came late." He tilts the phone back to his eyes and the side of Mingyu's face caught in a smile makes him want to test the connection of the call.

"It's okay," she assures him and he trusts her with his whole heart, "I love it. A lot. No, more than a lot."

Mingyu's eyes peer back on the screen and his eyebrows jolt up for a second. "Oh, you're awake now. Let me show you."

Mingyu's world shifts, a shock of the kitchen and dining table, until the camera focuses on the living room, where Seoyeon flattens the baby blue dress across her legs. Mingyu's hand pops up at the top corner of the screen, beckoning her to come over to him. "I'll take your hair tie off."

Seoyeon hurries over, tufts of the train floating down at each of her steps. Then it's the couch, trail of picture frames, before it's Mingyu sifting a hand through her hair and her twirling in the dress. She skips at her steps, stopping to lift herself up on her tiptoes and walk a straight line down the living room. "I can wear it for Halloween."

"It'll be perfect. We just need to get you shoes."

Seoyeon runs off the view and drags the box over to Mingyu's feet. "There's more, Daddy, look." She stands up, points at the box, and it's a hushed, "Oh, there is?"

The living room shakes and it's Seoyeon holding the phone as he pulls out the second gift from the box. Mingyu peels the tape, unwraps the sheets of bubbles, and gasps at the night blue box. "Are you serious, Wonwoo?" He holds the Lego set up to Seoyeon to hold, trades the box for the phone. "4,080 pieces?"

Seoyeon's footsteps thump across the living room and Wonwoo spots her figure holding the box above her head. "Thank you, Uncle Wonwoo," reflects off the walls until she sits down, dress flattening against the floor in slow motion, and admires the box as if the picture is worth more than the complete set. "Wait, it's in English. Can you read it?"

Mingyu scratches at a certain part of the box, inches from the print of the finished castle. "Wonwoo, it says it's for sixteen and over. Seoyeon is only seven."

"That's because I know you'd love building it with her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i first started planning this fic out almost a year ago, i was like "wow will anyone even want to read this?? oh well i don't care." this is my longest work to date and the one i'm most-invested in. i've done things with this fic that i've never done before, and this work is actually the first time i teared up as i planned and wrote a story  
> no, this isn't goodbye lmao. i'm not dropping the fic anytime soon. it's just that i woke up one morning to some comments on this fic and it got me to realize, wow people actually like reading my writing.  
> so i know i say thank you for reading quite a lot, but i really do mean it every single time  
> anyway, this was probably the hardest chapter to write and as much as i want to rewrite it, i want to focus on finishing it.  
> i hope you are all doing well!!


	12. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** hospital!! it takes up a huge chunk of the beginning of this chapter. there is a part that's a little heavy on the topic of jihye, but it isn't long at all?? and there is one swear word  
>  in case you wanna listen to music, i added only 4 new songs to the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vkuru29nbugjeme1ixf26c5zv/playlist/5ml8vMQhfAtH1aEA6UrjqV?si=m9ALrVfiTUuAYb_BElvoqQ). and your resident idiot of whatever i am besides the resident idiot accidentally deleted the first playlist, so if you were following the first playlist, you can follow this one. [the old link](https://open.spotify.com/user/vkuru29nbugjeme1ixf26c5zv/playlist/2sKRU1u6KoWoBH9lrRZ0Dy?si=aVobBqi7SX2Nbz8cmnAHdw) still works; i just can't edit it anymore

Wonwoo rubs the pads of his fingers together over the napkin by his mouse pad, sprinkling more cookie crumbs than rainbow sprinkles from a batch Sam's wife baked this morning. The closed sign greets him in and out of his office, also greets Robert in an out of his office, and never bothers to flip his office back to life. He abandons his door unlocked in case another brave soul wants to try him today.

Reading Mingyu's name on his phone at this time of the day is a sparse occurrence, especially since the moon can't budge at Mingyu's side of the world, but he picks up the call.

The first thing that springs from the line is a sniff, incomplete remnants breathing into his ear. A stream of possible causes for the ghosting downpour runs through his mind--Seoyeon getting hurt, Jihye calling him back, even Jihye suddenly showing up out of nowhere, Mingyu himself injuring himself. Maybe it's a perfect time to head home and make sure everything is okay. "What happened, Mingyu?"

The sound of Mingyu's voice seeps nasal and trembling between the syllables; anything can break it and anything will lock his throat. "Seoyeon is in the hospital and she's sleeping now-or I don't know and-" his throat confines any other words after. A burning inhale slices down his throat and Wonwoo's throat, words of comfort disintegrate on the way out at what could have happened to Seoyeon.

"Mingyu," Wonwoo's voice dims down faint, pushing his laptop away to plant his elbows at the desk, sink his face in his palm. "Mingyu, take a deep breath for me." One, two, three breaths crush the static of the line and Mingyu chokes once before a solid exhale finally revives a whimper out his mouth. "Can you tell me where you are right now? And what happened before you went to the hospital?"

"Okay," trickles into beeps, chatter subdued among the medical terms Wonwoo won't understand, and starts the bullet of words at him, "I thought Seoyeon had trouble sleeping, but she told me she wanted to throw up, so I put my hand on her head and she was burning. I checked her temperature maybe three times and they were all over thirty-nine, and so I took her to the bathroom first and she did throw up. So I drove her to the hospital and now, we're here, hoping she'll get some sleep and she is."

"It happens, Mingyu," is all Wonwoo can say. "Kids have weak immune systems; it can't be helped."

"She was in a lot of pain, though," he sobs, taking a labored breath in, "and she was crying. What if it's something I cooked? Wonwoo, I feel so bad for her. I should have known."

"It's hard to know, Mingyu, it's not your fault at all. Just last week, she was jumping around when we called."

Mingyu whispers out an, "Okay, yeah, that's true."

"She'll get better soon."

"Okay," ebbs back into another sigh. "Thank you, Wonwoo." He takes as much time as needed to listen to the inhales steady into something unwavering and lilting into even exhales. "Is it okay if you can keep talking to me? Or at least until Seoyeon wakes up?"

Wonwoo is reminded of the Mingyu who plagued himself about his design projects in the middle of the night, sketches across notebooks never bleeding as dark as the rings under his eyes or the pout of defeat at his lips. Bits of Mingyu's junior year suppressed down to unfolding the hands of the ticking clock, stretching their times longer, because Mingyu always needed breaks in between projects and more often than not, they spent more time than what Wonwoo promised until he should go back to working. Not much has changed about Mingyu, and neither has Wonwoo's response every time.

"Of course."

 

 

The line recedes into overlaps of Mingyu's hushed laughter and Wonwoo's anecdotes of odd clients, awkward silences between awfully-detailed shards of his clients' stories of their future honeymoons, and silence-breaking chuckles when realization dawns on the two of them that they can't take the quiet anymore. Mingyu picks up the quiet with recounts of Seoyeon, of how she brought him a white flower from her school one day and he wants to know how to grow the single flower into a field. Wonwoo recalls his grandmother, who collected seeds from the garden at his parents' apartment to grow her own flowers at the country side.

A female voice over theirs knocks over Mingyu's gasp at the ingenious idea, and the woman introduces herself as the nurse who will be checking up on Seoyeon. Wonwoo cuts his story off, saves it for another time, to listen to the nurse. The conversation obscures with Mingyu's voice and hers, buries itself in Wonwoo's faint grasp at what they're saying and the slap of the time when he has to meet a client in a few minutes.

Mingyu tells him it's okay to cut the call short, but he slips by an ask if he can call back when he's done with work, "because I'm not sure if I can sit here alone."

 

 

Wonwoo declares it a day after his last client leaves the door and shoves everything into his bag. He would rather be at his apartment when he calls Mingyu again because he's not confident if he can talk to them when they're in the hospital  _and_  expect himself to drive safely, without any images of a drained-out Mingyu and an ill Seoyeon.

 

 

He squints against the white of the hospital, and it focuses on the mirroring eye bags on Seoyeon's face, piled black spider webs of her hair, and her probing the IV on the back of her hand. Mingyu sits at the edge of her bed, leaning over to grab her free hand and scatter light kisses all over her palm, fingers, knuckles, wrist. He slackens his jaws wide and sinks his teeth just a millimeter deep into her skin. Her eyes disappear in her smile, makes everyone forget about the eye bags in the first place.

"How are you feeling, Seoyeon?" Wonwoo asks, grazing his thumb over the pixels of her cheeks, as if his touch crosses all boundaries of technology, his very phone screen, and distance.

"Gross," she mumbles, sniffing not long after Mingyu does.

"What happened? Are you hurt? Do you feel sick?"

"I remember I woke up because I wanted to throw up. And I did but then, Daddy drove me here." She raises her hand up to show the needle dipping into her flesh. "They put this in my hand and it hurt."

Wonwoo forces everything going, anything to allow Mingyu to delve his head into her pillow and close his eyes for a few minutes. Mingyu's eyes flicker shut mere inches above hitting the pillow. Questions water down to the school year ending, if she'll miss her friends and teacher, "Do you want to go somewhere after you get better?"

"Uncle Wonwoo, can you come here?" Seoyeon sulks. He wants to peck the pout off her face and promise her that he will come back again; he's not sure when, but the possibility has been thrown in the air too many times for him not to grab it.

The single question startles something in Mingyu, though, blinking the sleep from his eyes after rubbing his face into her pillow. "If you ask him a lot, maybe he'll go buy a ticket."

Seoyeon falls back into Mingyu, waterfalls of her hair engulfing his entire countenance. He blows air through his lips, a short tuft lifting up and plunging back down, searching for purchase on the corners of his lips and budding cheekbones. She cups her mouth with her free hand towards her father, as if Wonwoo shouldn't listen to the next part. "Do you think it will work?"

"I don't know." Mingyu blows at her hair again, a bigger strip of her hair freeing his nose into view. "You should ask him again."

"Uncle Wonwoo, can you come here?"

Wonwoo bites back the, "I wish I can be there right now," when there's a click from his speaker.

"Seoyeon," Seokmin's voice sings, and Seoyeon's eyes widen and light up with the embodiment of the sun right in front of her. "Are you okay, Seoyeon?"

Soonyoung's voice breaks through her answer. "Do you feel any pain?" She shakes her head and Mingyu lifts his head from the traps of her hair to stand up. A frame of Mingyu's leg, an arm around his hip, and it's Mingyu resettling to his place besides the bed and Seokmin and Soonyoung invade the other side of the metal bars.

Paper bags ruffle off from his sight as Seokmin asks Wonwoo how he's doing, if he ate already, "Are you the first one Mingyu called?"

Wonwoo answers with curtailed, "I'm good, I'm okay, but I'm not sure about the last question."

Seokmin's eyes bend into curves when his smile stretches across his face. "It's fine, I think I have to ask Mingyu for the last one."

"Yeah, Mingyu," Soonyoung's voice points an accusing finger at Mingyu, "you called Wonwoo first, who's nowhere near you, instead of us?" He scoffs as Seoyeon's hands reach above the camera with her two hands. He cautions her a, "Be careful, don't spill, Seoyeon," followed by a, "I made Seokmin speed over here because I got scared."

"I was more scared of speeding than seeing Seoyeon in pain," Seokmin admits defensively, popping the straw through the foil of Seoyeon's yogurt. He hands her the bottle and pouts when Soonyoung hands one to Mingyu but not to him. "I was really worried about Seoyeon, but we don't need more people in the hospital."

Mingyu drags a hand over his eyes, sniffing once more and watching Seoyeon sip the last drops of her yogurt. "No, I get what you mean. Thank you for coming right away."

"Of course," Soonyoung assures him, and Wonwoo's heart rests relieved and battering his chest lowly. Soonyoung and Seokmin are doing everything Wonwoo wishes he can do and as much as he would be bitter about not being there, he basks in the jokes that has Mingyu rolling his eyes, mocking Seokmin and how he probably drove with both of his hands defying textbook-definitions of death-grips on the steering wheel.

"If you want, I'll stay here with Seoyeon and Seokmin can drop you home so you can get some sleep." Soonyoung's voice alleviates over the sudden cry from a nearby room as he turns to Seoyeon. "Is that okay, Seoyeon?" Seoyeon nods and her eyes and face follow Seokmin plucking her empty yogurt container off her hands. "We can watch movies on the TV or I can ask the nurse if we can walk around."

Mingyu glances at Seokmin raising each of his eyebrows at a time until Seoyeon's laugh combusts the wiring of worry basing Mingyu's face. She sticks a fingerprint between Seokmin's eyebrows and his face manages to uphold the strong, cross-eyed stare. "That sounds really good, thank you. Can we wait till Seoyeon gets her breakfast?"

"I'll make sure she eats breakfast." Soonyoung reaches over the pillows and behind Seoyeon, budges Mingyu's shoulder to start his way up and out of the room and to his own. "You need to get home and sleep. I doubt you slept before we came here."

"But Seoyeon-"

"Mingyu, we got this. Look, you won't even turn your head." At Seokmin's order to turn his head, Mingyu sinks his chin closer to his chest. "Did you get stiff neck?"

It's a market of what they should do, and Seoyeon's head lolls from one pair of talking lips to another. Eventually, she sways her head from side to side and it's the first in a while since anyone acknowledged that Wonwoo was even there, though not physically.

"Look, Seoyeon's right," Seokmin starts. "Let's ask Wonwoo."

Wonwoo sides with Soonyoung and Seokmin because he's certain Mingyu needs more sleep, but "you should ask Seoyeon, too."

All at once, they turn to Seoyeon trading glimpses at her dad and uncles until arms snake around her shoulders, and Soonyoung holds her still. "What do you want to do, Seoyeon?"

"I want to watch a movie," loses itself in Soonyoung's arm and jacket.

The squeal from Soonyoung emits a grimace from everyone else. "I'll go ask the nurse what movies are playing, then."

They promise to call him back later, but Wonwoo isn't sure who will be at the other end of the screen. He seldom moves his phone anywhere out of his reach, tapping the corner on his chest, waiting for it to ring.

 

 

Mingyu's eyes don't give way to the tears and sometimes, Wonwoo worries that the pink and puffiness will irritate him. He blinks, perhaps wishing this was all a dream, strands falling over his eyes. It takes Wonwoo's "She'll be okay" for the absence of Seoyeon's voice, shuddering footsteps, and her calling for Uncle Wonwoo for everything to break. Mingyu lifts his head up, only to drown it in the sobs at his hands. Tears revive the ones already searing down his cheeks and he wipes at his eyes every few seconds. Wonwoo chances a deep breath in, in hopes of bracing himself, but he catches himself catching his own tears.

"I wish you were here," Mingyu stammers. It pummels Wonwoo dumbfounded, sliding deeper under his blanket, because that's not what he thought Mingyu would say right now. He wishes he was there, either watching a movie with Soonyoung at Seoyeon's bedside or assuring Mingyu in an embrace that she'll recover soon; he accepted that long before he first called. "Having you around made not having Jihye around a little more bearable. I mean, the guys help a lot, they really, really do, but Seoyeon misses you more than any of them."

Wonwoo's lips stumble on an apology; for what, he's can't decide what really for. About not being there? About everything that happened with Jihye? But Mingyu won't sacrifice a second for Wonwoo to say something. "Seoyeon asks for you almost every night, and I haven't been sleeping well because I can't bring you here. I know it's selfish of me to think of that, but I really wish you were here."

 _He just needs to sleep this off_ , Wonwoo coaxes himself, eyes searching for anything but the screen.  _He's been doing this for so long and nothing won't change if I'm there._

He's not sure how to handle this because he's never seen Mingyu like this. He always mentions how Seoyeon wants him to return home or take her to New York but never like this, nothing close to sobbing and frail shoulders holding too much weight for too long. Wonwoo knows he'll slap himself later, but he clears his throat, can't think of anything else to say besides, "You should go to sleep, Mingyu."

His lips part for the worn breaths or a reply, but he closes them and nods his head. "I'll try to."

A "Sleep well" never deserves a last second of the call as it ends before he even lifts a finger.

 

 

_22:04_  
**_Jihoon_  **  
_I can't believe you did that_

Wonwoo is terrifed to accept Jihoon's call, but he has no excuse not to when his phone resides in his hands for the past few hours without moving and they were messaging each other the second Mingyu hung up.

"I didn't know what to do," Wonwoo admits, raking a hand through his hair and tugging on some roots along the way, "it was too much for me to take in, so I just-I just shut him down."

"What was too much for you?"

"Mingyu saying he wishes I was there with him was too much," he repeats for the third time already. The huff out his nose flares in annoyance, and he wonders if Jihoon paid him any attention in the past few minutes.

"Why was it too much? Everyone else wishes you were here, too."

He must be repeating himself and he's not sure of himself if he's getting angry or impatient at everything around him. Seoyeon stuck in the hospital, Mingyu crying because he thinks Seoyeon falling ill is all his fault, Mingyu crying even more because he wishes Wonwoo was there with him right now, and everything he can't do for Mingyu and Seoyeon. What can he even do for Mingyu and Seoyeon? "I want to be there with Mingyu and Seoyeon, but I can't" escapes from his lips without forming any coherent thoughts through. His mouth slips open, but nothing comes out, and he wonders when this all started.

 

 

Wonwoo orders himself to sleep, take a nap, slam his eyes shut for even a minute. The beats of his heart pound into the walls, crushes the ceiling, and he twists the bridge of his glasses at his chest. He wants to know when this all started, this longing to go back home that's not exactly the one he lived in for most of the past and present parts of his life. He wants to know what happened between him and Mingyu, if something changed with Mingyu.

His entire body fumes hot and troubled as his mind refuses to let him forget Mingyu's cries collapsing and failing to save the "I wish you were here" from the unheard.

Mingyu's name shatters his screen and he ponders whether or not he should pick it up. Would Mingyu be crying about Seoyeon? About Jihye or Wonwoo? Would Mingyu be infuriated at Wonwoo for not listening to him talk or for dismissing him so quickly? But he should be helping Mingyu during this time, much like how Mingyu sacrificed sleep at the wrong hours of the globe for the past couple of years. After the fourth ring, he leans over to turn the lamp at his nightstand and answers.

Mingyu exchanges his pajamas for a cardigan, white shirt, and jeans, but nothing can replace the pink at his nose or the swelling of his eyes.

"It's only been for hours," Wonwoo notes, and he coughs the anxiety out his throat. "Did you get any sleep?"

Any sound out of Mingyu's lips shallows out low and unfiltered against the closing of his throat. His "She's starting to miss me, so I'm going back" releases choppy against the dry syllables. "She's getting discharged tomorrow and honestly, I'm just glad this is happening during her summer break."

"Are Soonyoung and Seokmin still there?"

Mingyu shakes his head, and Wonwoo wonders who can be with Seoyeon now. "Junhui and Minghao are with her. I told them not to bring her anything, so I'm bringing her blanket, clothes, and books." Mingyu lifts his backpack, shoved years into his future, without any faded marks from the rain or white streaks from dropping on the pavement that trademarked his bag in university.

"Knowing Junhui and Minghao, they probably brought her ice cream and cookies."

"Or Minghao's letting her try tea from home." Mingyu sticks his tongue out of disgust and it's the first time they share a short spell of laughter since Wonwoo brushed him off, told him to sleep. Mingyu checks his phone, mutters that Jihoon is picking him up instead of Seokmin. "Soonyoung came home late last night and I feel worse for everything."

"Don't feel bad. It's the guys' instinct to prioritize Seoyeon. I almost considered buying a plane ticket to go there when you called."

Something ripples across Mingyu's face--slit parts of his lips, relaxing corners of his eyes, the quirk of his eyebrows up. It's hopeful and the playful joke hurts Wonwoo for crushing that look from Mingyu's face more than placating the memory of hours ago. But nothing more can be said, not when his phone rings and Mingyu has to go.

\----

On Wonwoo's one day off, the early morning bids him to stay at his bed, wondering if he should apologize to Mingyu through call or text. He weighs it out, how he can be sure that he won't miss a thing if he uses his words without his voice versus letting his mind talk for him without hindrance, possible stutters and futile attempts to fix his thoughts on the spot.

Mingyu doesn't pick up the first time but after Wonwoo sets his phone down and starts favoring text as a better option, he answers the call minutes later.

"Sorry, I was giving Seoyeon her medicine," Mingyu says. "Something happened? It's early for you over there."

Nothing frets into the stillness before Wonwoo gives in. "I'm really sorry for telling you to go sleep like that. I pushed your feelings to the side so fast when I should have been giving you support. Like how you always do for me. And if you-if you want some space or if you don't want to talk, that's completely fine with me and I'll understand."

"I can't drop you for a one-time thing, Wonwoo." He hears the smile in Mingyu's voice more than actual words, rekindling Wonwoo's hope that he'll learn to handle himself and others better. "I forgive you, don't worry. I was adding more stress onto you, it was a lot to take in, and I didn't even realize I called you while you were working until you told me to go to sleep."

The line halts altogether until Wonwoo mumbles out another apology.

"Don't worry about it."

The next question evades his lips, but he wants to know from Mingyu's own lips. "Do you want me to go back?"

Mingyu's end consoles his end and the other ends of his world with a vulnerable "I really do."

\----

Wonwoo picks at the wedding invitation at the top of his pile, compressed into a shipping box that once sent his order of used books and now houses unused invitations. He hasn't been attending any weddings lately and the invitations are left opened and nothing more because most days that these weddings happen fall are the same days he throws himself under the bus of his office. Guilt scathes his heart this morning for pushing aside a key moment in someone's life, but there are no other options when there are appointments waiting for him that day.

The invitation at the top of the pile is the first one in a long time that actually lands on a safe spot in his calendar. He takes a second glance at it, smiles at Ernest's name in silver against the red envelope.

 

 

"Remember when we talked on the phone late into the night, or really early in the morning, and one time, you asked me if the moon listened to our conversations? I think the phone is connected to the moon because she's always there when we talk, just settling with the stars or leaving when the sun arrives. So every time I see the moon, I think of you.

"When we first started out, we thought the stars must have been drunk trying to align our fates and keep us together because sometimes, life never goes the way we wanted and we thought we were never meant to be. But after a while, I realized the stars do look out for us. The stars might have been drunk while watching over us but after taking care of each other, we could never leave each other broken and our stars in the wrong places.

"The moon still listens to us, now that there isn't a long distance between us or in the past fifteen years we've been married. There are conversations we can never let another soul hear and there are words I wish I never thought of, but I tell them to you, anyway, because I know you will listen and make sure I won't believe them. Some are hurtful, when the clouds are at the moon. Others are bright, when the moon blinds the both of us at the other ends of the world, of our home.

"So I know I might not be making any sense and sometimes, I end up saying things that come to my mind when I think of you. But if I can tell you only one thing now and for the rest of our lives, I'd tell you that I love you. I love you to the moon and back. To the moon and back, to the moon and back."

 

 

Wonwoo's face smothers under a warm, tight hug from Ernest once he reaches Wonwoo's table. He asks for one thing and one thing only, and it's a picture with him and his lovely wife, Raquel.

"Ernest told me you helped him write his renewal vows," she mentions, hooking an arm into Wonwoo's as Ernest calls for someone to take a picture of them.

"Did you really?" someone from Wonwoo's table asks, planting her chin on her palm over the table to look up at him.

He blushes at the sudden attention from his table and the two others beside him. He hides the bashful smile with a palm over his mouth, mutters an even shyer, "Yes, I did."

"I want to go to you for my wedding vows," one says.

"Me, too," another jumps in. "Do you have a business card with you or anything?"

 

 

Home is synonymous with shedding off his suit and tie, ruffling his hair into disarray and velvet tufts. He showers, changes into his pajamas, and curls in his bed, like any other night.

But tonight swings back at him years ago, when he thought about writing vows for someone he might marry in the future. Scribbles, crossed-out promises marked once, four, seven times until he had mercy on the words and thought they were drowning in enough ink. His friends asking who those vows were for, if they were his vows at all. He remembers being younger and hopeless, reciting the vows to the person in the bathroom mirror, changing his tone with the flow of words with no one to dedicate to. He remembers those moments during and after university, and it's just another reminder of how he never really came home tripping on a pair of shoes at the door besides his own, often he stopped the conversation because it's a lonely conversation, talking to his reflection when he was hoping someone else was listening to him.

Maybe another person in his apartment wouldn't be so bad. Someone who would wake him up in the mornings and make him forget about coffee as a close friend. Someone to talk to, even when his blabbering sinks indecipherable with the tears.

\----

A knock on his door stirs him from sending his replies and Sam sneaks her head through the crack. "Happy birthday, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo can't believe it at first, checking the calendar to find it counting the minutes for July seventeenth. "Oh, thank you, Sam." The tiny hints of a smile never leave his face, at the fact that she remembers something he mentioned once before.

"My wife made you a small cake this morning. I hope that's okay," breathes off a different energy from what he's used to seeing from Sam. Standing in the back, never saying a word, and hoping no one will notice.

Wonwoo shakes his head, closes his laptop, and slides it into his bag. "No, no, thank you for even remembering my birthday. And can you tell her I say thank you so much for baking something for me?"

Sam nods, budging the door open with her shoulder, opens the door more to a white box sitting on top of a bulky brown one. "This just came in, too. It's from Korea."

He never received anything past an envelope from home and he can't remember anyone informing him of a package. "Do you want to eat with me while I open the box?" Wonwoo offers, standing up to pull back the chair across his own seat. He tells her, as he grabs napkins, forks, paper plates from the top of his mini-fridge, that he wasn't expecting anything from home.

 

 

Wonwoo dabs the napkin, after scarfing down some of the smooth filling, to ask her if her wife happens to own a bakery because his taste buds never touched anything like this before.

"Her dad does, actually, but it's far from here. She learned from him, and-oh, hey, is this in Korean?" Sam leans forward, smoothing down the postmark and shipping label with a fingertip. "Sorry, I can't read it."

Wonwoo grins around the fork in his mouth and reads the large, a few backward letters of the English alphabet. Under the address in Korean is Mingyu's handwriting of the same address in English, and he supposes the rest were Seoyeon's attempts at writing his office's address.

Everything about this box depicts Mingyu at the kitchen table with Seoyeon standing on the chair, arms holding herself up as she leans forward to read the second language. Seoyeon must have asked to write the beginning of the address, and the numbers are the only thing perfect about the address, despite the wobbly penmanship standing on Seoyeon's toes. Mingyu must have noticed, not much ink used, that some letters aren't facing the right direction, might give the postman trouble trying to read it. Then Mingyu will ask for the pen back because "the mailman might send it to the wrong address."

The first thing he pulls from the surface is a pink envelope, dotted in white petals. It's one of those things he dismisses at every gift shop in Changwon, when cheery blossoms decide it's time to bloom and every single person in the country should watch them.

_Wonwoo!_

_Mingyu asked me if I wanted to give you something for your birthday and he'd ship it over. Of course, I said yes after making him promise to let me pay for at least half of the shipping, but I wasn't sure what to get you. So I decided on this envelope because you probably thought of home when you first thought it and you like all that sentimental stuff._

_How are you over there? I hope you're doing great. You can always call us, even if there's nothing going on. We all love to see you again soon, whenever you can, whenever it's possible._

_Love you,_  
_Bohyuk_

He peeks into the envelope, at the prints sticking onto his fingers, as if they want Wonwoo to be part of the pictures. The first one frames Bohyuk and Yerin under the cherry blossom pathway, one of his arms slung tight around her waist and her holding an umbrella behind them. The next one composes of his parents in the same spot, in front of the cherry blossom trees, but his dad knocks back the biggest smile he's ever seen as his mother tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. The next pictures capture Bohyuk and Yerin with a group of teenagers and a second one just like it but with much younger children. Perhaps it's in the hospital or entertainment company Yerin works for; Wonwoo scribes a mental note to ask Bohyuk of that one day.

A jar of papered cherry blossoms are taped to another envelope of the same pink design. He pops the cap off, reads the first few with simple hello's,  _I hope you are well over there_ ,  _I want to write just like you_.

Some are in Seoyeon's similar, wobbly penmanship, uncertain of which way the stroke is meant to go, and others radiate in the same clarity as his own. Wonwoo can't bite back the smile at his wondering of what Yerin tells her kids.

_Hi Wonwoo!_

_Yes, I tell them all about you and they love you. Or they love folding the cherry blossoms. Either way, it made all of them smile. I hope it's not creepy at all. One of them wants to write and I like to keep a close eye on her._

_I hope to see you some time soon!_

_Yerin_

At Sam's lost eyes, he explains his brother and his current girlfriend, Yerin, are both psychologists. He points at Yerin in the back, same red lipstick, and Sam whispers a bashful something of how pretty Yerin is. "Yeah, she really is. They met in college and Bohyuk told me all about her. But her parents wouldn't allow her to date until she got her degree, so my brother remained as friends with her until she walked across the stage."

Sam's face rests with a distant smile. "That really says something about Bohyuk. Do you get along with your brother? And do you, like, approve of Yerin?"

"I get along with my brother, but we did fight sometimes. And I can't think of anyone else who I want my brother to be with." A flower crown of plastic cherry blossoms make him and Sam laugh the moment he plants it on his head. "They must have bought this, too. Where I'm from, there's a cherry blossom festival every year and many people go."

_Hello, Wonwoo!_

_I'm not sure if you remember me, but how can you forget your favorite professor? I still teach the same subject, in the same school, and in the same classroom as where you had me. Your brother told me you write for a living now and have been doing so for a few years, and that's wonderful. I'm glad you're doing something you have a lot of talent in and dedication for._

_Visit some time. You know where my classroom and office are. My office hours are still the same as ever. Tell me about the books you read in English and if they're much different than the ones in Korean. You don't have to bring me anything but your words and stories of your life. I'd be delighted to hear every single one of them._

_Yours truly,_  
_Professor Kang_

The first part of the next letter bleeds in blue, almost inked out by a typewriter. By instinct of his eyes, his father's fine penmanship still shocks him each time he reads it.

_Wonwoo,_

_I hope by the time this letter gets to you, you receive it in good health and no burdens. We miss you so much, Wonwoo, but we know you love your job there. That, alone, brings us more ease. Come back here when you can. We'll always welcome you home. I think Bohyuk is missing you even more after you left last year. And Yerin, too. She wants to see you again._

The last half of the letter inks out in purple, and he wonders if Bohyuk gave his mother a random pen to write in before telling her what color her side of the page will be. She doesn't seem to care, though, because the rest of the page capsizes in purple and a pooling dark dot at the second character is the exact moment when she realizes the odd color. She'll laugh, Bohyuk will apologize, and his father assures her that Wonwoo can still read, his eyes are still good and young.

_I don't know if you know this, but Mingyu and Seoyeon come down here to Changwon sometimes. It's always nice to see them and whenever he comes, he says he wishes he can bring you here. We meet with his parents every time and we always go out and eat. I think Seoyeon loves being with me more than your dad hehe._

_Stay healthy and happy, Wonwoo._

_Love,_  
_Mom and Dad_

The Polaroid logo oozes brazen inside the dark box and his judgement is certain that it's from Junhui and Minghao. He gawks at the letter from Soonyoung and Seokmin taped onto the box.

_Wonwoooooooooooooo!!!_

_We want to see pictures of you and New York, of you in New York. We want to see your life outside of wedding vows and office walls, so we got you this cute Polaroid camera! It's pink! Because that was the only color available at the store._

The next part alternates styles of handwriting after a faint line dotting and disappearing off the corner of the page, of Seokmin grabbing the pen from Soonyoung to continue the letter.

_(Lies. Seoyeon picked the pink one and Soonyoung refused to change it, even though we all know your favorite color is blue. -Seokmin)_

_And I asked your Professor Kang what book he would recommend you to read, but he said that he's sure anything he recommends, Wonwoo has read already. He told me to get a book you like, and I asked him which one. So that's why we got you "King Lear!" Sorry, it's not autographed by Shakespeare._

Another faint line dotting and disappearing off the page hints of Soonyoung grabbing the pen from Seokmin.

_There was a penman/calligrapher/fancy writer who makes posters. We saw it at the mall and immediately got you the poster. The reason why it goes from English, Korean, and Latin is because it's the order you first heard the phrase. I think. It sounds cool and thoughtful when I put it that way._

_Come back soon, Wonwoo! We miss you so much._

_Soonseok talk_  
_Seoksoon talk_

Wonwoo pulls out a bag stuffed with shirts basking in prints of cities, car brands, and languages he won't understand even if he tried to learn. In the same bag, keychains, magnets, and at least three postcards, all from varying points of the map, skitter across the table when he opens up a shirt to take a fuller look of the design. BMW, Munich, Tesla, San Francisco, Audi, Rome.

Their letter is short, but the phrase might hound his ass in the middle of the night.

_Tell us a city and we'll take you there with us._

_We'll be ready._

_Junhui & Minghao_

He reads the two sentences to Sam and she notes how ominous it sounds, "Is it a threat? A challenge? But if they're letting you travel with them, you should go."

Wonwoo can't help but laugh at the next gift, at the set of black fine-point pens, strike-through of the pigment range down the clips of the caps, that he recalls having but never buying. Jihoon explains it to Sam in a card tucked into the case.

_Jeon Wonwoo,_

_Who stole these pens from me when we studied together. There were literally twelve other guys with you, yet you always stole my pens. Anyway, everyone knows you have a lot of journals and they keep buying you some, but has anyone ever bothered to gift you pens?_

_The ocean isn't that big of a distance in the universe. Calling me is never a bother. I love hearing from you._

_Jihoon_

He detaches the the narrow wooden box from the plastic set. Japanese engravings scorch the wood black and when he opens the box, he glances at Sam to confirm that he does have to unwind the roll case bleeding midnight across his palms. He's not familiar with the Japanese language, but the narrow and hefty weight between his fingers still won't draw up a thought that sounds even close to rational at the black fountain pen, shocked with thinning lines of gold. A silver box with Jihoon's name in marker is the last thing from his friend, and he reads the  _PRODUCED BY PILOT_  and thinks that Jihoon shouldn't have.

With the next gift, Sam sputters out at least five different sentences--about how many are there, how long as it been--but words fail at Wonwoo's turn, at the ultrasound at his fingertips.

_170632_

_There are three of them! We don't know the genders yet, but we don't mind knowing until they're born. We love them so much already. They're due sometime in January and they're all healthy. Yujin and the three little ones are healthy._

Wonwoo pricks at the tears in his eyes, brushes his fingers at the corner and lets a drop fall, smother the gloss.

_110732_

_Look how big they've grown in a month! If you look closely at the right, there's one that's under two, and that one is holding the weight of its siblings. How crazy is that? This one will probably be the oldest._

A birthday card slips from the ultrasounds, watercolors of balloons into the clouds. He opens it up, refusing to catch the second tear that shatters Seungcheol's words.

_Happy birthday, Wonwoo!_

_Make sure to relax on your birthday. Yujin and I don't want you working so hard because we all know you do. We really do miss you over here._

_Yujin and Seungcheol_

Sam distracts his concentration enough to not notice the sticky note folded up and storing the message inside away from his eyes.

_Don't beat yourself up for not knowing, Wonwoo. Yujin and I didn't want to know, either, and it took us a while to say something to anyone. And Soonyoung and Seokmin are jealous you're the first person I gave ultrasounds to, after Yujin's parents and mine._

Wonwoo huffs, inhales back the tears at the last envelope in the box, waiting for him at the very bottom with securing layers of tape. He smiles at the memories thrown back at him, with the picture of him lying on his bed at the dorm and his wrist caught in mid-flick with a paper airplane heading straight for Mingyu sitting at the other side of the room, hunched over the desk. Another picture holds the guys at the wooden steps of that old brick building. They were never sure about the purpose of that building, but he hopes Mingyu will tell him all about it once he finishes his project.

Then there are pictures closer to the present. Of Seoyeon sleeping on Mingyu's bed, too sleepy to change out of the Cinderella dress. Another of Seoyeon and Mingyu bowing down in their hanboks for Chuseok; it must have been a few days after they landed from New York.

A paper slips out from the usual birthday card and when Wonwoo peeks into the envelope, there isn't a birthday card at all. A narrow white rectangle with red and blue squares lining up the bottom lands on his lap. He flips to the side with writing, of the left side's  _From: Uncle Wonwoo's House_  in Seoyeon's thick marker and confident, nearly evenly-sized writing, and the other side's  _To: Seoyeon's House_. A bar code dots up a short way of the paper and everything about this piece of paper hits him harder the second he realizes the familiar airline he took to Seoul and the one Mingyu and Seoyeon took to New York that's written at the top of the stub.

He wishes he can actually use this plane ticket.

"Is it Seoyeon?" Sam asks quietly, and he remembers, then, that he's not alone in his office.

Wonwoo's lips fail to mutter about missing her, missing Mingyu, and his voice starts to give up on him when he starts talking about missing his brother, his parents, his friends. He drops the plane ticket on the desk to press the tears off his eyes, but it just elicits a weak, pitiful, "Oh, Wonwoo." He looks up when warmth nudges at his knuckles and takes the tissue she offers at him. "You'll see everyone again, I'm sure."

 

 

Wonwoo loves to sleep in the shirt too much to hoard it in the depths of his closet, and Mingyu casts off the uncertain blush creeping up to his cheeks and the bashful stuttering from the last time to smirk an "I told you so" when he accepts the call.

"Thank you for the birthday gift," and before Mingyu can even think about speaking, "and I'm sorry for not opening it with you. I was too excited when Sam brought it in."

"No, don't worry. I'm glad you really like it."

"I love it so much, thank you," he repeats like it's the only thing he can say, holding onto Seoyeon's plane ticket like it's the only thing he'd salvage if everything else in his apartment vanished. "This was the best birthday present I've ever gotten."

"You know, I asked Yujin about you being the first one out of the guys to get copies of the ultrasounds, and she said you really were."

"Happy birthday, Uncle Wonwoo!" screams into his earphones and his ears yell at him to unplug the earphones with a prominent  _clack_. Seoyeon searches for a home in Mingyu's lap again, and Wonwoo thanks her for the pretty plane ticket.

"Maybe I'll use it to see you."

\----

An English professor winds her way to one of his appointments, Wonwoo close to asking her if she's lost upon explaining what she does for a living, and everything about this certain client drains his throat parched. He squints more at the minuscule chances of butchering his spelling or grammar, wearing his vocabulary thin to a speck of dust. Perhaps ten minutes pass by, but his ears capture more stutters in a minute than with any other client he's had before.

"You don't have to be scared of me," she smiles, lets brown coils of her hair cascade from her shoulder. "You're not my student, and I genuinely need help with writing vows."

\----

"Should I visit for Christmas?" Wonwoo asks, dotting the date on his calendar with no room left to schedule anything on that square. "I didn't get to celebrate over there."

"I think my parents want Seoyeon and I to go Anyang again for the holidays and apparently, Bohyuk is spending Christmas with Yerin at her home."

"All the way in Gwangju?" Wonwoo gapes, trying to calculate how long it would take for his brother to drive from his home to her's.

"All the way in Gwangju," Mingyu mirrors.

"I'll go after Christmas, then, but for how long?"

Mingyu's eyelashes flutter as he tilts his head to the side. "Would forever be fine?"

"I want forever, too," Seoyeon pipes. Wonwoo listens to her footsteps trail from the hallway and to Mingyu's side. He sets her on his lap and Wonwoo greets her with a, "Do you really?"

Wonwoo doesn't want to upset Mariano for taking so many vacations off, but he doesn't want to arrive at home, only to leave a few days after and feeling as if he only took a glimpse, rather than the whole view. "I'll ask for two weeks."

\----

He threatens Bohyuk to never coming home this time if he even hints at their parents that Wonwoo will be coming after Christmas. He's already saved a purse for both his mother and Yerin, a blue-collared shirt for his father, and a windbreaker for Bohyuk. He's never sure what the deal is with logos or names, but he makes sure to ask Mingyu which brands sound foreign to their memories.

Bohyuk hides himself under the blanket when he video calls, but they test out the three-way calls when they add Yerin into the conversation.

"I want to meet Seoyeon, too," she admits, hopeful eyes fixated at one side of her screen, and they're not sure who she's talking to.

Wonwoo glares at Bohyuk, heat bathing his neck, because Yerin doesn't seem bothered that Seoyeon is  _Mingyu's_  daughter. "Sorry, you have to ask Mingyu about it because Seoyeon is not my daughter."

Yerin falters across the lines, mental screeches to stop talking, and deadpans a, "I'm so sorry, Wonwoo. Bohyuk tells me about you and Seoyeon and-this is awkward."

Wonwoo assures her it's fine, nothing to be sorry about. "It's not the first time someone thought Seoyeon was my daughter."

 

 

Once he tells Bohyuk and Yerin to eat well, get enough sleep, take care and promises Yerin that he'll ask Mingyu about it, Wonwoo rolls over his bed, hugs his pillow because there's nothing and no one else that can. He ponders about the ache in his chest whenever someone misinterprets what Seoyeon really is to him.

\----

Wonwoo really wonders if clients have selective reading, purposely ignoring the sign on his wall about closing appointments and drop-ins not long after Christmas. His phone and email saturate in demands for wedding vows at days and hours that Wonwoo isn't anywhere close to his office. He needs time to buy something for everyone again but when he tells Mingyu about the widespread tunnel vision from a few clients, Mingyu makes him promise to not buy any gifts.

"We just want to see you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the first draft of this chapter before rewriting chapter 11, so that's why there was an update so soon (and bc whenever i didn't want to study, i wrote instead lmao)  
> again, i hope you are all doing well and sleeping under sweet dreams :D  
> i'm still over here at [tumblr,](http://pumpkyeom.tumblr.com/) [ twitter,](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity) if you want to scream at or with me


	13. Seoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to everyone still reading this lmao, especially those who hate slow burn but they still stay, anyway. you guys are tough  
> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vkuru29nbugjeme1ixf26c5zv/playlist/5ml8vMQhfAtH1aEA6UrjqV?si=VuMArUMdQ16YG6xpFn0jMQ), but there's only one song that got added and it's all i want for christmas is you lmAO but it's park bom and lee hi's rendition!!  
> no warnings this time!! though it was a pretty emotionally-draining chapter to write, so i guess that serves as a warning  
>  **warning (24/11/18):** heavy on the topic of jihye and a subtle reference of the miscarriage. sorry, i should have mentioned it right away; i don't know why it didn't cross my mind until now

Wonwoo reclines back into his seat when the seatbelt lights ding off as New York dissolves at his window without losing any specks of light. He closes his eyes to chase for a few hours of sleep, if not the entire plane ride, but his thoughts drive him up the wall, hunching into the dark corner, at the image of Mingyu worn at the eyes and deflated at the shoulders. Mingyu's "I wish you were here" destroyed by the "Having you around made not having Jihye around a little more bearable," he wonders if he's really going home because he misses everyone, not just to make sure Mingyu won't call him up another night and sob into his ears like that.

 

 

He wishes his arrival remains a calm one, nothing close to the screeches of his name or Junhui scratching his head, thinking twice about the legitimacy of his trip home. He bumps shoulders with a handful of people, tucking his chin into his chest to dodge their annoyed scowls at every step he takes from then on after. He might get lost, he might not even recognize anyone he knows at the first steps out the gate, but he hopes he can simply take a scan around and find someone there, waving a quiet hand to beckon him over.

His lungs thank him for bringing them back home, though the air sticks harder into his chest and pierces his nose dry with winter gasoline. His ears perk up at the language familiar at his palate, pushed aside prior to this moment.

But no beckoning hands greet him. His shoulders jolt at the sound of his name puncturing the mellow murmur of the airport, rubber screeches of pushcarts, and the steady rhythm of his heart. His worries trickle far from reality when he notices a poster with his name, a stick-figure of a man with black glasses and a pencil in his hand. It's a rainbow _Welcome back Uncle Wonwoo!_ over Mingyu's head, it's Seoyeon's grip on the poster at his shoulders, it's the returning ease of residing his entire being that makes everything feel okay again.

Wonwoo picks up the speed of his walk and in that shard of a second, he watches Seoyeon free the poster in one hand to pat Mingyu's head with her palm. He reads the "Daddy, can I get down? Daddy, I want to get off" from her mouth, beaming from her eyes. Mingyu searches left and right, tiptoes despite his eyes hovering above everyone's heads and when they meet across the floor, Mingyu's arched eyebrows, lips parted in lost hope that Seoyeon found the wrong person wears off into a smile of relief and faded lines between his eyebrows.

Mingyu reaches above his head, hands searching for Seoyeon's arms, and lifts her right off his shoulders. Seoyeon's height above everyone else lures twinkling stares at Seoyeon, from wrinkled hands of old ladies wanting to hold her hand down to children tugging on their parents' sleeves. When Seoyeon disappears into the crowd, Wonwoo worries about losing her under the shoulders of everyone else here. He tilts his baggage upright, stops at his steps, and looks around for a flash of the white poster, Seoyeon's hair whipping behind her.

He nearly gives up his search when something traps his legs, the sound of poster board wobbling right under him, and Wonwoo lifts Seoyeon up into his arms. The wind cuts from his throat when her arms tighten around his neck and he buries his nose into her hair, kisses the side of her head and the curve of her ear, wherever his lips can reach in this angle, because it's been a while since his reality met with his dreams and he doesn't want to let it go.

She pulls her head back and he robs this chance to peck her once on the lips, just when the wobbling sound of the poster comes back. _Welcome back Uncle Wonwoo!_ waves at him and Mingyu peeks his head from behind the poster before opening his arms.

A shared sigh of arriving home in one piece, of being able to hold Mingyu and Seoyeon in his arms like this again, guilt from the last months dousing him clean and forgiven. Wonwoo wants nothing more in the world than now.

 

 

The car ride consists of Wonwoo taking up the space next to Seoyeon at the middle seat, an arm around her shoulder and a hand patting her arm as she sinks deeper into his jacket and watches the city blur in the white winter. Everything is a quiet comfort to his ears and his heart, and he wishes he had this back in New York.

Her booster seat is long gone, no dents into the seats from the years of usage, no Disney stickers plastered on like its own paint. When he asks about it, Mingyu tells him that he actually gave it to Seungcheol and Yujin for when their triplets start to wonder what's outside the car. It means having to buy more two car seats, but it beats buying all three.

A single worry fails to hinder the gentle smile as Wonwoo counts down the buildings on the block before Mingyu's apartment. When the car whirs down without the hum of the key, he wonders if Jihoon's car is parked at the sidewalk, if Soonyoung and Seokmin are on their way, if Junhui and Minghao are waiting inside.

Mingyu glances from the rear-view mirror, shakes his head, and clarifies that none of the guys are here, that they would rather meet somewhere that will fit everyone in one spot after sleep catches up to Wonwoo's wrong hours of the day.

Seoyeon uncurls her fingers to yawn against her palm when he opens the car door for her. When he steps out first, he hurries around the car and opens his arms out for her to dive right into. She unbuckles her seatbelt and he lifts her into his arms, her chin sinking into his shoulder and arms draped around his neck, languid and even breaths past his ear. He rocks Seoyeon side to side, hums a quiet tune, as Mingyu pulls out his bags from the trunk and starts guiding him up to his apartment.

 

 

Wonwoo counts the shoes at the door three times until he finally concludes he's not hallucinating anything, that maybe his longing for home really isn't screwing with his vision. He notices a pair that his brother wore whenever he stepped out for market days in this harsh season with their parents, ready for the snow to crunch the soles of his feet and the plastic bags to slit his gloved skin dry. But Wonwoo brushes it off, believes he might actually be a fool to think Bohyuk would drive the distance, on top of the distance from his apartment to Yerin's.

He sets Seoyeon down, kneels down to untie her shoes and peel them off so she can saunter into her room, change into pajamas or simply solace some slumber on the floor mat. When he straightens back up, air whips out of his system and he inhales familiar cologne. He takes in as much warmth against him as he can, squeezing the air out of Bohyuk's own lungs for scaring him.

When he pulls back, he takes a better look at the returning roots fading the brown dye, hard muscle at his brother's shoulder when he smacks his hand there. "I thought you're in Gwangju" is a single sentence that can't smack the smile off his face. Bohyuk is here, right now, and there's no one else he would want to hug as much as his younger brother.

"We cut it short so we can see you."

"We?" nearly evaporates before leaving his lips.

"My parents wanted to come, too," is a soft voice from behind. He turns around, first notices red matte lipstick on Yerin's lips. A hand caressing Seoyeon's hand, flick of her fingers to brush the falling strand of hair, Wonwoo can't believe this is real, this is happening right in front of him.

He rushes over to hug Yerin, that one meeting from years ago already solidifying his longing of her presence, of her and Bohyuk's presences. When he steps back, he asks about the kids at her work, how she's been, if the girl who wants to write is still writing.

There's a nerve in Yerin's chuckle as Bohyuk tucks a fraying band back behind her ear, passing by to ask Seoyeon if she is sleepy or hungry. "I'd love to talk to you about them when we have more time together, but I think there's someone else who wants to see you, too."

A drop of wood against wood stirs behind him and when he notices a pair of pale hands wiping last sink droplets on a kitchen towel, he allows Yerin to escape to find Seoyeon, to bury his face in his mother's neck.

 

 

Mingyu squeezes beside him on the couch once Seoyeon settles on Wonwoo's lap, her fingers smoothing the wrinkles on his mother's hand. Occasionally, conversations dilute with fawning as his mother manages to sneak in pinches of his cheek, of his arm. When university locked him away from home, it was always something his mother did when she was excited about her sons' return.

Bohyuk pats Yerin's hand on his lap, eyes stuck on Seoyeon the entire time. His father leans back on the couch, arm behind Bohyuk, and he catches him smiling when Seoyeon opens her mouth for the spoon Mingyu prods against her lips.

Seoyeon's head moves from right to left, left to right, and her jaws slacken even when she wipes her bowl clean. Wonwoo jerks his legs, bounces her on his lap, and asks what Seoyeon is looking at, what seems to be bothering her.

All chatter pauses, eyes narrowing to Seoyeon, and it's a quiet, "Uncle Bohyuk looks like Uncle Wonwoo" that shoves the silence away. He tilts his head forward with his forehead against the column behind her neck and smothers his fringe against her neck fast enough to have her curling in his lap, squealing to rid the bangs tickling her neck.

"I hope we look alike," Wonwoo says, face halting all at once, "because Uncle Bohyuk is my brother."

It's a squeaky "Oh!" that Seoyeon pipes up that sends a second flood of _aww_ , pinching Seoyeon's cheeks and the one behind hers.

 

 

When they have to head down to the parking garage, with the hopes of beating traffic, Wonwoo wishes he can spend more time together, more minutes holding his mother's hand.

"It's okay. I think Mingyu and Seoyeon miss you a lot, too," his mother assures him.

A prick at his eyes, flood of constantly worrying his mother to a thread falter a reply. Guilt freezes him from moving any closer, for thinking that the money he sends is good enough for everyone else to know he's okay. He didn't want them to worry about him so much.

His father's voice rumbles at his chest when his solid arms slip around him. He sinks his head into his father's shoulder, thankful for someone to hug him when he thinks he'll collapse under his mother's embrace, instead. "Glad you're okay, Wonwoo," between the pats against his back and the ease of his father. When his father pulls away, ruffles his hair one more time like years ago, he scurries back to his mother at Bohyuk's car.

The world slams him down without dropping him anywhere close to the core and the ground disappears at his feet. He yelps against Bohyuk's ear when he hugs him, picks him up like a feather, and spins him.

"Stop it, I don't feel like the older brother when you do this," Wonwoo complains with the rest of the world searching for the right spots to vacate, every white streak of the parking garage lights and a car backing up splitting into bright and scraping burns at his eyes. But if Wonwoo voices out his honesty, he'd love to spin Bohyuk until both of their worlds are a blur and it's nothing to be sorry about. But the flight, the drive, the relief of his family being okay and leaving with smiles weigh his eyelids and arms down. Bohyuk scans around and calls for Yerin as she helps their mother into the car.

"I hope we can see you again soon," Yerin yearns as she sways him under her arms. She pouts around a, "Seoyeon is so cute. I think I love her already."

Wonwoo smiles at that, promises that he will tell Mingyu about it and maybe one day, he can take Seoyeon to Changwon or Gwangju for a visit.

She dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand and a flush at her cheeks. "It's fine. I don't want to bother you and Mingyu."

He blinks at her, wonders if she forgot that Seoyeon isn't his daughter. When she starts her way back to the car, Wonwoo follows her steps to hug his mother one more time, to promise that he will take better care of himself, and he will eat well. He even drags Mingyu down to promise he will feed him well during his stay.

 

 

Wonwoo shakes the last drips of a hot shower from his hair, propping his glasses on the nightstand and expecting Mingyu to wind his way to the other side of the mattress. When the bed dips a second time, it barely dents the springs and he flips over to Seoyeon crawling over the mattress. He glances from his glasses and back to the mattress, to convince himself that she really is slipping under the blankets, that she does want to sleep here. He glances out to the hallway, only to notice the bathroom light shading the walls in yellow.

He thinks back to Mingyu recounting the nights after the divorce, how Seoyeon slammed the door at him and didn't even want to sleep in the same _room_ if it meant she wasn't sleeping with her mother. His mind torments him more with the thought of Mingyu moving everything out of the second room to build one of Seoyeon's own when she should be sleeping with him. How many nights Mingyu would go home, only to discover an empty bed all over again. He wants to question when this all started, what happened between his last visit home and now that has her wanting to sleep on _this_ bed with Mingyu when years ago, she wouldn't want to even share the same blanket here with her father.

Mingyu throws another set of blankets over him and Seoyeon, sitting up on the bed and making sure that the last edge of the sheets make it over to Wonwoo's side of the bed. When he slips back down, he smiles at Seoyeon pressing her cheek against his shoulder. As if Mingyu reads his mind or traces wherever his eyes glue at, "She had a nightmare a month ago, so she's sleeping here now."

Seoyeon rolls over to Wonwoo's side, heat of her cheeks against the corner of his own shoulder this time. The warmth of another person beside him hits him with the speculation of how he lived alone in his apartment all these years. She whispers a, "Can you tell me a story?"

Mingyu flips to his side, poking her ribs until her voice breaks the late-night air. "We should sleep. Maybe he can tell you a story tomorrow." He peers up at Wonwoo once she stops wriggling under the sheets. "You must be really tired."

\----

A weight swallows up his chest and his hand searches for his heartbeat through the flesh, stops once he hears a voice perk up the morning gray out of his eyes. Seoyeon notes about the leap of his heart, and Wonwoo thinks the worry carves out from knowing it's been years since she first slept in her own room, how this bed protected Mingyu, Seoyeon, and _Jihye_ from nightmares. The anxiety creeps up to his throat for sleeping on this bed that Seoyeon never wanted to sleep on without her mother, with just Mingyu.

Is he pushing Jihye out of her life that quickly?

Taps of her fingertips drop in waves over his lungs and he pats her head, chuckles away the barrage of question he has for Mingyu.

She flips her cheek, ends of her hair spreading a blanket over the other side of his ribs. "Can you finish the story?"

In between clanks of a pot sliding over the stove and glass into the sink, he continues where he last dropped the story. He runs his palm over Seoyeon's hair, hums the heavy clouds from his throat and to fill in space and to get a fraction of his imagination going for her.

"The next customer is a little girl; she might be around your age. She goes into the shop by herself and asks for a rainbow jar. The shopkeeper is surprised because it's been months since anyone asked for a rainbow jar.

"But the rainbow jars aren't kept on the main floor, where all the customers are at. The jars are kept in the second floor, in the shop's attic. The man doesn't want to leave the girl alone because what if someone kidnaps her while he's not around?"

"Maybe she follows him to the attic?" Seoyeon suggests, her arms wrapping tighter around his chest. He spreads the second blanket over her and fixes the ends at her shoulders.

"Yeah, you're right." He strains his neck to peck the top of her bird nest. "In the attic, everything is dusty. There are lots of shelves for the jars, all mixed colors. Black-and-white, red-and-brown, gray-and-white." He pauses, wiggles his knees and sending the morning off with a tender greeting of Seoyeon's giggles. "What else? What colors do you think are there?"

The "Hmm" rumbles under his chin. "Blue-and-green, pink-and-white, purple-and-bla-wait, Uncle Wonwoo, there are a million colors."

"Too many to name," he affirms, "and they can be more than one color, just like the rainbow jar. The rainbow jars aren't hard to find. There are a lot of them, actually. The shopkeeper grabs a rainbow jar and helps her count out the exact bills. The girl thanks him and leaves and when she does, he whispers a goodbye to Park Chanshik."

"I have a classmate with that name," she gasps, "and he likes dinosaurs."

"Really? Does he tell you about dinosaurs?"

Seoyeon shakes her head, tilts her head for the corner of her chin to dig into the recess of his chest. "He did before but now, I can't remember. But I remember your stories and I tell them to him."

"Does he like the stories you tell him?"

"He does." Wonwoo halts his hand on her head when she climbs up higher, digs the side of her face on his neck, and their own chuckles concoct into the sweetest morning he ever woke up to, ignites the second question of how he ever lived in his apartment without anything close to this. "But I tell him that they're from my uncle, not me. And my teacher says they're nice stories."

He lifts his hands, plants one at the base of her back and the second at the valley between her shoulder blades. He skims a thumb, feels her relax against him. "How about you tell me something about the next customer?"

"What about an old man?" she pipes into the pillows at his ear. "All the customers you said are not super old."

"Okay, so what about the old man?"

"Because he's very old, he...he-"

He stops skating his fingers over her pajamas to save some room for questions. "Do you think the shopkeeper will be happy to see him there?"

"Maybe," Seoyeon whispers, "or maybe the shopkeeper is sad because the man is getting a jar now."

"That might be. What color jar is he getting?"

"Blue," is the fastest response from her all morning. "The shopkeeper is sad, but maybe he can be happy, too."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because-because he's getting a jar." The scowl presses into his neck when Seoyeon asks him to finish it, her thoughts draining dry at the huff of "Telling stories is hard."

His voice is low, wonders if any of his stories are actually any good. "Yeah, it is sometimes. So the shopkeeper is a little sad to see the old man, but it's good he's getting a jar now than never. He sells the blue jar to the old man and says to have a nice day. The customer squints at the name tag at the shopkeeper's apron and tells Youngho to have a good day.

"The last customer-"

A knock interrupts the finger twirling Seoyeon's hair, flattening a palm down her back. Mingyu pokes his head through the door to tell them that breakfast is ready, bands of his hair falling into every angle across his face except for the squint of one eye to stay awake.

"I guess I will tell you about the last customer another time."

 

 

Wonwoo balances Seoyeon on his lap, hopes she won't start off the day by tipping off his legs as they eat breakfast. More times than he chews, he finds himself combing his fingers through the tangles of her hair. He looks up to drink water, notices Mingyu smiling through the puff of his cheek, biting into rice, until his phone rings behind the door of the bedroom. It stirs the break of his eyes, something in the pit of Wonwoo's stomach, of a dream right in front of him instead of behind his eyes.

Mingyu's eyes flit up to Wonwoo's before he excuses himself to fetch his phone, only to come back with a deeper scowl pressed into the phone more than his eyes. A surprised "Hello?" shares a nervous glance at Wonwoo. "Okay, I'll be there." He sits back down, biting into his lip instead of the rice.

"What did they say?"

Mingyu shoves down the last bites from his bowl into his mouth, stands up roughly that the chair scrapes on the floor and Seoyeon flinches from the sound. "They want me to come in right away, even when I asked to be off." He scratches his head, blows off steam with a harsh sigh at the rough drags of his fingernails into his scalp. Wonwoo isn't sure if it means all three of them would go into his office, but he wouldn't mind visiting where Mingyu spent a solid chunk of his life in. "The dean will be there and he's expecting me."

"It's okay, you should go," Wonwoo assures him. "Do you want us to come or-"

"Oh, no, you don't have to come." Mingyu waves the set of chopsticks in front of his face and turns to the sink. "You should rest up more after the flight. Stay with Seoyeon and watch movies or go outside, too, if you want."

Wonwoo leans down, smiles at Seoyeon hiding her face behind her hair. He asks what she wants to do and even after they settled at the couch with the blanket at their laps, he can't help but watch Mingyu dart from the bathroom to the bedroom, lights blending from both the bedroom and the bathroom. Mingyu walks back and forth between both doors, buttoning his shirt, fixing the tie at his neck, combing his hair.

Wonwoo suffices concealing the quiet gasp with a cough once Mingyu leans down, hair sprayed back from his forehead, to kiss Seoyeon a "See you later."

 

 

When his phone rings, Seoyeon finishes off the movie by asking him if they can listen to "Hakuna Matata" for the fifth time after the credits scroll white. She scurries off to pause the movie and Mingyu's voice reverberates all over the apartment.

"This is so sudden, but you should get dressed. Seungcheol's in Seoul to visit his brother, and all the guys want to see him."

Seoyeon ventures across the couch and onto Wonwoo's chest to scoot closer to the phone. He holds the phone up to her as she test out a more comfortable position on his chest. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to a buffet, Seoyeon," Mingyu's voice softens. "So pick something to wear, okay? If you need help, ask Uncle Wonwoo."

She rolls off the cushions and runs away from the living room, to her room, away from his sight. "Uncle Wonwoo, look at my new clothes" fluctuates with each of her steps up and down the floor.

Wonwoo turns his head back to Mingyu's voice. "Yeah, I bought her new clothes because she's growing too fast."

"She is," Wonwoo echoes hollow, a little bitter that he wasn't there when she was growing at her fastest. But it just makes him wish she stopped growing, even for a second, and treasure the Seoyeon of now because he couldn't do it years ago.

 

 

Wonwoo offers a hand when Yujin pressing her palm up her lower back becomes more frequent than following his suggestions on taking slower steps to the table. Yujin captures the world with a smile no one has the heart to not return and in a way, it reminds him of Seokmin. He pulls Yujin's chair back far enough for the bump of her stomach to not bump onto the edge of the table, close enough to hold out a hand again and help her ease onto the seat.

Yujin barrels him with questions about America, his writing, where he's staying at now, how long it's been since they last saw each other after Seungcheol permanently moved back to Daegu. It's all questions Seungcheol would be asking if he saw him first, instead of his wife, but he's sure Yujin wouldn't mind relaying the newfound information back. When he does spot the older, Wonwoo falls into his arms, cranes his neck at the stubble spiking into his skin.

"Long time no see, huh, Wonwoo?" he murmurs against his collarbone. "You look the same as the last time I saw you." He notes about Seungcheol not keeping up with his university promise of shaving more often. "Hey, there are more important things than shaving," Seungcheol defends, cracking the seriousness with a smirk and open arms that Wonwoo can't help but fall into again.

"It's almost time, right? You said January?" Wonwoo asks, squeezing Seungcheol's hand.

"Yeah, yeah, January twenty-six is the due date," Seungcheol's sigh unwinds the tension, "and I'm hoping for two sons and a daughter in there." He jokes once they make their way to Yujin, Seungcheol's hands on her shoulder near the base of her neck. He presses his thumbs at the center, gnawing the stiffness at the top of her spine.

Yujin laughs the fluster from her cheeks, pats Seungcheol's hand. "Stop, it might be two daughters and a son in here."

Nothing can slap the smile off Wonwoo's face watching Seungcheol and Yujin talk about what their homes will be welcoming any time soon. His sobbing about not knowing seems pathetic but if anything, knowing that Seungcheol and Yujin are okay now resolves himself to forgiving himself; he can't help it.

 

 

At the tables, after rounding a train of embraces at their section of the buffet, some taking a flash of a second and others having Wonwoo hoping that the dinner won't stretch too long after, he watches Seoyeon jump from the laps of Soonyoung and Seokmin, to Junhui and Minghao's table. Junhui shifts at his seat towards Seoyeon at the side, opens his mouth wide with an "Ah" that has Seoyeon mimicking him. He pops a grape into her mouth and waits for her to swallow before saying something and turning his cheek to the side. Seoyeon tiptoes, kisses Junhui, and he feigns a faint that Wonwoo teases him about over the tables.

She slips into the seat between Jihoon and and Yujin, spectates Jihoon tapping chopsticks on the glass in front of them. From one table away, above the bustle of waitresses picking up emptied plates and offering refills, rings reverberate in different pitches. Seoyeon points at the chopstick in Jihoon's hand and the next second shocks to his hands holding onto the glass from shaking any further, his smile wavering around a, "Gently, Seoyeon. Do it gently."

But it's when Seungcheol stands up from his chair, abandons his seat next to Yujin to find something she can eat or has been craving. She slots her fingers between Seoyeon's short nubs after she rubs her stomach, asks if Auntie Yujin ate a lot. A faded glint at her eyes, nothing sharp like Mingyu's, glazes over the brown at the sight of Yujin. Wonwoo remembers catching the same look at Jihye once, the latest memory Wonwoo really has of her. He only recognizes this look of Jihye because it's the same one in the video of the wedding years ago.

Wonwoo tells himself to push it aside because of course, Seoyeon will look like Jihye sometimes. Of course, Seoyeon won't resemble Mingyu all the time.

He chances shoving his chair back rough against the carpeted floors, but he stops when Mingyu's fingers grip tightly around the fork before settling it back down, leaving half of his plate untouched for the past few minutes. His eyes tread to where Mingyu faces but stops when he coughs, drink water, looks back down at his plate.

Wonwoo pushes his chair back in, waits for Mingyu to stop drinking water, stop biting his lower lip, to reach under the table and search for Mingyu's hand on his lap. He whispers, just once, if he wants to go outside.

Mingyu never lifts his head up at the, "Can we?" His voice trips around the request and Wonwoo hopes Minghao at the table beside them doesn't hear it.

"Of course." Wonwoo nudges at Soonyoung's shoulder, mentions heading to the restroom with Mingyu.

When the doors close, Wonwoo pulls Mingyu's head into the crook of his neck, rocks him under his arms and lets his sobs coat his neck like heavy rain. There's a grip at Wonwoo's back, fingers grazing but never digging, wanting to hold steady but trembling even more when Mingyu's fingers skirt up his spine. It's a searing trail at his shoulder blades, but Wonwoo holds him even tighter, assures him to let it all out as if "no one can hear us in here."

"She never looks at me like that, Wonwoo," Mingyu cries, burying his face into his shoulder. He's not sure how to respond, but he keeps his arms tight around Mingyu. He stills his rocking for Mingyu to trade his cries for regaining his breaths, for Mingyu to slump against him and almost hang onto him. Mingyu grabs the collar of his coat from the back, tugs it tight and tugs it down. "She must really miss her mother and-and why can't I give her that? If only Seoyeon didn't have just me, she would be so much happier."

Words pummel Wonwoo numb. He wants to tell him how much Seoyeon loves him, how he, alone, makes Seoyeon so happy. He wants Mingyu to know that there's nothing more he can give for Seoyeon because he's such a good father already. He wants him to know that Yujin is very gentle by the nature in her heart, and there must be something about her that brings out a different side to Seoyeon.

Time ticks off by seconds of anxiety, nerve-wracking doubts of wanting to say something and punching it back into his mouth. Time stands on its tiptoes again, pressed against the chance of someone hearing them or even walking in. When Mingyu pulls back, Wonwoo grabs a paper towel, holds his face in his palm to pat the tears from his eyes.

"You make Seoyeon so, so happy," Wonwoo whispers. "Don't doubt it."

Wonwoo leans against the sink as Mingyu rinses the pink from his eyes. Every few seconds of the invisible clock is punctuated by Mingyu lifting his face from the sink and asking if his crying would be noticeable. "How about now? Are they-"

He's close on telling him no, that the pink can't be gone in a minute, when the door clicks open and Seungcheol walks in with a glass of water. Seungcheol sighs, but it trades off with a sharp look at his eyes, toughens against whatever Mingyu will deny his words of. Mingyu's shoulders deflate and his eyes drown again in tears more than the sink water from the while ago.

"I'm so sorry," barely crosses and nothing else can be heard.

"It's okay," Mingyu swallows hard to take it all in, "it's okay, Seungcheol."

But Seungcheol abandons the cup at the sink to hug Mingyu, and Wonwoo eyes at the tight grip he has on the back of Seungcheol’s jacket. He listens to Seungcheol's words do wonders that his own can't do. "Don't even think you're a bad father, Mingyu, because you're not and you will never be. Seoyeon loves you so much but seeing my wife, seeing her aunt, there's something different about her touch, okay? Yujin is very sweet, especially now that she'll be delivering so soon. There's nothing wrong with you, absolutely nothing is wrong with you. You're more than enough as her father and you can't change anyone's mind about it."

Seungcheol won't drop the grip on Mingyu's hand and they watch him wipe the tears from his eyes again. "I'm-thank you, Seungcheol. Just thank you," is a heaving breath. He starts off an apology for doing this to him, especially since it's been years since they've seen each other, but Seungcheol diffuses any other thoughts with his own.

"You did nothing wrong. There's nothing to be sorry for," Seungcheol's voice lowers, back of his throat grumbling parts of the words, as if no one else should listen. "It must be hard for you to raise a child by yourself. Not everyone can do that, but you do it and you do it well." His lips part, shaking his head, "I wish my kids will be as kind, smart, and caring as Seoyeon.

"Seeing how Seoyeon makes you happy, how you do it alone, pushed Yujin and I to try again, even when we were scared of," Seungcheol sighs, coughs out the words, "scared of it happening again. But whatever you're doing, it seems to be a good thing. But honestly, the only thing I don't like about Seoyeon is that I can't bring her home with me and cherish her because Daegu is far."

The stillness in the three succumbs to the airy chuckle Mingyu frees from his throat and Wonwoo feels his shoulders actually relax at Seungcheol's own words. How much Mingyu wanted to hear them, how much Seungcheol wanted to say them, and how much those words held true since the day Seoyeon was born.

"Seoyeon is looking for you" has Mingyu snapping his head up to Wonwoo, fear doting his eyes and wanting him to fall into it. They know Seoyeon shouldn't see this, shouldn't know why he's crying in the first place. Wonwoo considers going out to check up on her. "She thought you were getting cake for her." It's an exhausting laugh that makes its way into the tiles, something to finally alleviate their minds. "I'll get it for her. What does she like?"

"Anything is fine, really. She'll try it all," Mingyu supplies after thanking him again. He takes tiny sips of the water, dabbing his eyes with the tissue Seungcheol offered. A small brownie sits in a plate at the sink and he wonders when Seungcheol brought it in.

Seungcheol takes Wonwoo's hand in his and he's sure some of Mingyu's tears smear into his palms. He thanks Wonwoo for taking him here, and he admits he wouldn't know what would happen if Mingyu stayed frozen at the seat.

Wonwoo goes back to leaning against the sink and pushing the glass more into Mingyu's hand. They stand in silence as Mingyu rinses his face, rubbing his palms up and down his cheeks and eyes until they stop, palms flat over his eyes, nose, and lips, and his shoulders start to shudder. Mingyu lets out a sob, lung-crushing inhale between his fingers.

He starts tracing a path down Mingyu's back until he retches out another sob and his head begins its way closer to the base of the sink, slight tremor of his legs wrinkling into his pants. Wonwoo makes Mingyu straighten his back from hovering over the sink for too long, and it doesn't take too long for Mingyu to collapse into Wonwoo's arms. He rubs his back, tries to hug him as much as his arms can stretch when a sob flinches into the silence.

He wishes he can do something to stop it--the memories, the pain, or at least the tears in Mingyu's eyes--but he can't brush of Mingyu's emotions. It's been years since Mingyu and Jihye split but if everything still hurts, then everything still hurts.

 

 

They gather one more time before they leave, to say goodbye to Seungcheol and Yujin before they have to return to his brother before eventually returning to Daegu. Wonwoo refuses to drop his hold on Mingyu's hand, thumb running over the back of his palm, as they watch Yujin lean down as far as she can, holding her stomach, and Seoyeon propping herself up on her tiptoes to kiss her on the lips. A sigh passes between them, not from Wonwoo's lips, when Seoyeon tiptoes again for another kiss. Yujin straightens up with the help of Seokmin's hand on her arm, gestures for the two of them before she calls for Mingyu.

Seoyeon runs up to Wonwoo, jumps into his arms, and he asks if she likes her Auntie Yujin. "I do," she confesses shyly, side of her jaw lapping into her shoulder and her eyes refusing to look at him. "She says she has my three cousins in her stomach and she'll poop them out."

It's a bashful Seoyeon, fluttering eyelashes and curling into herself more than she did with any of the guys. It's a Seoyeon Wonwoo doesn't see very often, if he could even say he saw a shot of it at all. He wonders if this is what Mingyu meant.

Wonwoo's eyes land on the sight of Yujin hugging Mingyu before she holds his hand, says something that has Mingyu nodding with his head low. When they hug, she whispers something into Mingyu's ear and Wonwoo notices Seoyeon staring at the two. Wonwoo spins her around in his arms, points somewhere for a star in the sky, and Seoyeon asks about the messenger boy making his way across the universe.

 

 

That night, he manages to convince Seoyeon to sleeping in her own room this once. He knows Mingyu must need the time and space away, even from his own daughter and his best friend. So Wonwoo lies down with her, book in hand and a few more at the foot of the mattress. In the middle of the first book, though, Wonwoo closes it back shut, turns off the light, and squeezes under the blanket with her.

\----

Wonwoo groans the morning off his bones, but he regrets it when Seoyeon shifts with his arm under her head, scowling at the sound before blinking her eyes open. When her eyes blink off the first nips of sleep, she rubs her face against his arm, heat of her cheeks warming up the patch there. He lifts his arms up, pats his chest, and she scoots right in. He brings the blanket up to their shoulders when she perches her head at his underarm, asks if she wants to sleep some more.

"Just a little," she murmurs.

But sleep doesn't come back to them, though. Seoyeon throws out the idea of sleeping with the idea of making a picture book, but she can't figure out the perfect story.

"You can do any story as long as it's a story you want to write." She hums against his arm. "Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head against his arm. "Maybe later."

Wonwoo finds himself sitting across from her at her desk with markers, colored pencils, and printer paper out. He never thought of himself as any good at drawing; even in school, he asked Mingyu to help him draw when he took a class about children's books. So he writes out a story, colors the words of the jars with the respective shades.

He finishes writing about the customer with the yellow powder, coloring the word “yellow” with yellow a colored pencil, when a door in the apartment opens. When they hear the drone of the bathroom vent, Wonwoo tells her that he will ask her dad about breakfast.

 

 

Wonwoo convinces Mingyu to sleep for as long as he needs to and when Mingyu props himself up with protests of making breakfast for the two of them, swollen eyes and a scowl that lasts longer than the night, he pushes him gently back down on the bed, tells him to rest some more. He sustains the stern eyes at Mingyu, arms crossed over his chest, until Mingyu nods, thanks Wonwoo, and mumbles against the sheets about using anything in the kitchen to make breakfast.

Wonwoo worries about the sweetness of pancakes filling up her stomach too fast too early in the day, especially with the sealed canister of whipped cream at the fridge. When he asks if they can eat something else and pancakes later, Seoyeon agrees after he picks her up, sets her on the counter, and grabs a few eggs from the fridge. He opens cabinets, shuts the fridge door multiple times, until every ingredient for pancakes satisfies Seoyeon's wandering eyes.

He suggests on making small pancakes, the size of a chip, so it's easy to eat while they watch a movie. Seoyeon asks if they really can and after she stirs the batter until the consistency starts to resemble something ready to drop into the pan, he thanks her for helping him.

Mingyu must have downloaded a million movies for Wonwoo to watch with Seoyeon because when they finish the most simple breakfast in the world, she grabs his hand, pulls him to the living room, and asks what movie he _hasn't_ watched yet. He scrolls through the screen of titles, wondering when the list will ever end. At one point, he thinks all the movies will be the same and he's willing to watch anything as long as he's watching it with Seoyeon.

 

 

They wait for Seoyeon to fall asleep before sitting on the couch with something itching at Wonwoo's palate. It's something he puts off into to the back of his mind to continue his day, and Mingyu doesn't seem to want to talk about yesterday.

His heart pounds hard when he clutches onto his pajama pants, listening to his nails scraping into the fibers. He's not sure where this conversation will go, but he wants to clear a few things up before it's too late. "I hope you don't mind me asking," Wonwoo starts, trepidation sinking his voice nearly undecipherable.

Mingyu draws an exhausted hand over his face. "No, go ahead."

The question lodges back into his throat and seconds submerge for him to steal a deep breath, clear his head out of Mingyu's possible answers to the question, and asks, "Do you remember the airport? In New York?"

"John," withers in uncertainty. "John F. Kennedy?"

Wonwoo rocks at the couch and he hopes that his efforts of creating cushion space between their legs aren't noticeable. "Sorry-um-I meant, do you remember what happened? When you pulled Seoyeon away?" His jaws don't even budge a millimeter and his heart picks up at the possibility that Mingyu heard him but doesn't want to answer or that Mingyu didn't catch it and he has to ask the question again. He takes the latter's chance, but Mingyu nods once before he can. "Was she...was she calling out to me?"

Mingyu avoids his eyes and swallows hard, seems to want to bite back the "Yeah," and wish the world worked with a different reply, "yeah, she was."

He's not sure what to make of this, but his mind slams him back to when Mingyu asked if he doesn't mind that Seoyeon views him like a father, that she opened up to Wonwoo the fastest. He should be happy, his heart shouldn't be scraping anxious butterflies at his chest. He should be glad that all his doubts trickled into futile worries, that there was nothing to be nervous about.

But there's a pang in his chest, an awful crime of robbing Jihye's spot in Seoyeon's life. And it makes no sense, he'll be honest with himself, because they haven't heard much about Jihye since she called Mingyu. It doesn't feel right, but it feels _unfair_ that Wonwoo can just walk right into Seoyeon's life like this.

Mingyu breaks the silence with a voice stuck to his throat. "I told her not to call you that because it's not like you-I mean, you like her, you like Seoyeon. She seems special to you and everyone thinks that, too. But I don't know if you see it and at the same time, we're not-you and I are just-"

Wonwoo lets the weight of closing the distance carry his heart. Everything hurts, from Mingyu stitching the open wound of the divorce, pushing Jihye out of Seoyeon's life so quickly. He wonders why he won't be upfront with his emotions now, keeping them far as if to avoid them entirely. And he doesn't want Mingyu to finish off the sentence.

"I can't push away Jihye like that from Seoyeon's life," he mumbles. He knows he's not making any sense, but he really doesn't want to know what Mingyu was going to finish the sentence off with. "She's her _mother_."

"Jihye," Mingyu burns the quiet with a broken inhale, "pushed us away. And I don't love her anymore. It's been a long time and if anything, I just really hate how Seoyeon knows people look at her differently because she doesn't have a mom in her life. Or a second parent, really."

When Wonwoo curls into the couch, Mingyu moves himself further to the other side. The distance, pulling away and apart from Mingyu, is so new to him that he's not sure if he wants to move further away, scoot in closer, or not even move at all. It's something, he notices, that never happened in their years of knowing each other, and Mingyu seems to be a universe away when he's right in front of him in the flesh.

He wonders, again, what happened between Mingyu and Jihye, between him and Mingyu.

Mingyu lifts his hand, takes a long drag of his hand over his eyes again. "I don't want you to feel like you always have to be there for Seoyeon when you're not even her parent. I mean, you don't even live in Korea anymore. And if she made things between us, I don't know, hard or awkward, you don't have to pick up whenever I call anymore." Mingyu drops his hands at his lap, weight of his words sending both of them falling back into the couch. He refuses to look anywhere from his fingers picking skin off and it's then that Wonwoo notices the jagged edges of his nails that weren't there the day before. "I know we've known each other for so long, but I don't want to put you in this if you don't feel comfortable to. I'll understand and I'll tell her, don't worry. I don't want to force you-"

He bites his tongue at the words he can't think of ever living by. He thinks back to his planner long gone in New York, to the first page, and thinks it would be better for the both of them if he cracks his mind open and have Mingyu read it. He can't keep holding back when Mingyu is right in front of him, when Mingyu is the one who wanted him here, when Wonwoo never had the guts to say it to him at all.

"But I really am happy when I'm with Seoyeon," Wonwoo confesses, eyes falling on everywhere that isn't on Mingyu. "I feel happy with you and Seoyeon that when I came back the first time, I was scared of leaving." Mingyu's head tilts towards him, but he doesn't spare a look. The side of his head doesn't hide the wet trail down his cheek. "I was so scared I was never going to be that happy again."

The words settle between the two and Wonwoo is scared that maybe Mingyu doesn't feel the same way and Wonwoo has been believing in a hopeful lie this entire time. If Mingyu doesn't say anything, never wants to look at him again, he'll pack his things long before the sun bids them daylight, call up Bohyuk to see if he's willing to drive back to Seoul or message Jihoon if he still has that extra room open for the rest of his two weeks here.

But the anxiety ridding his slowed heart returns with a shift at the other side of the couch, Mingyu's head tilting up when his does, too. His heart sighs in his chest when Mingyu offers him a tiny lift of his lips that means more than any of their jokes, airless laughter knocking themselves back into their seats, digging pure joy from the pit of their souls. "You make us really happy, too, even when you're so far away from home."

\----

Morning acknowledges him with his hand on Mingyu's chest, temple tucked at his arm, and the backrest of the couch pressed onto his back. He sinks himself into Mingyu's hold around his shoulders and loosens the grip of his fingers.

Something light works its way into his chest, ready to burst at any disturbance of this peace--Mingyu waking up, Seoyeon walking in. But his fingers curl even tighter and he listens to the snores against his ear.

He wants to get up, but he wants to stay. He wants to wake Mingyu up, but he doesn't know what to do after. He wants to say something, but he stays quiet.

 

 

He conjures up a second morning to an almost-empty bed. Almost empty, because Seoyeon's arm dangles over the edge and her head is too close to the corner of the nightstand for comfort. He sits up, slips his arms under her neck and knees to lift her closer towards the middle of the mattress, closer to him. He pulls the blanket up to her chin and heaves his feet to plant on the floor at Mingyu's voice far off.

Mingyu must have carried him to the bed while he slept, and the thought has Wonwoo burying the blush on his face into his palms. He grips onto the hem of his shirt when his heartbeat starts to flutter into his veins, across his temple. Everything doesn't feel so heavy anymore, and Wonwoo thinks he can finally, truly breathe.

Mingyu paces back and forth in the living room, hand over his eyes, and sometimes running his entire palm over his face. His shoulders are weak so early in the morning and despite his voice carrying its normal tone found in everyday conversations, he notices the conversation depleting all his energy and any more steps.

"Yujin is eight months in, right? It's normal for her to feel more tired than usual at this point." Mingyu laughs, but Wonwoo catches him swiping at his eyes. "Even Jihye got tired in the elevator rides when she was pregnant with Seoyeon."

"We don't have to talk about Jihye," Seungcheol sighs, and there's nothing much he can do about Mingyu reopening the wound himself except for wishing he can stop. "Everything you told me is really helpful already."

Mingyu swallows hard, assures him that, "I'm okay, I'm fine. Just tell Yujin that if she gets tired in the elevator, it's normal. Just help her walk, be extra patient with her, and wait for her. I'm surprised Yujin just started saying she's feeling tired now, since she'll be having triplets."

Seungcheol agrees more in closing up the conversation than the actual thought. He mentions Yujin taking less walks around the apartment floors and thanks Mingyu again for the advice. "I hope I can be half the dad you are."

Mingyu's back faces Wonwoo and his shoulders won't steady at his breath. He doesn't want Seungcheol to hear and he knows Mingyu doesn't want Seungcheol to hear it, either. He hurries over, plucks the phone off speaker, and tells Seungcheol that he hopes he and Yujin are doing fine.

"I know Mingyu is crying." It should have been obvious that Seungcheol can listen right through the words, despite not seeing any of them in so long. "But please tell Mingyu that I do mean everything I said."

When Wonwoo promises he'll pass the word and hangs up, he tosses the phone, hesitates to lift his hands to Mingyu's face. But he kicks the thought away when Mingyu's shoulders shake as bad as his breathing, and Wonwoo can't help but bite his lips to hold back his own tears. He takes the back of Mingyu's head, pulls him into a hug, and tells him that "Seungcheol means everything h said, that he wishes he can be half the father-"

"No, it's not that," Mingyu's voice shrinks against his neck. "I just feel so bad for crying about Jihye, and I know I told you that I don't love her anymore and it's true, but-"

Pushing it further might break everything before Mingyu even completes the thought and he places all his trust in Mingyu's words. "I believe in you; you don't have to say it again." He swings Mingyu side to side until he whimpers against the wall of his fingers on Wonwoo's neck. He pulls Mingyu's face away from his shoulder, warns that Seoyeon might hear.

Teardrops either moisten his lips or hang from his jaw, eyes swelled and exhausted at bleaches of pink, and his hair dampens past his eyes. It's a weak nod against Wonwoo's palms, thumbs running to dry tears, before Mingyu hugs him again. Wonwoo chances this once, to tip his nose into Mingyu's neck and his lips onto Mingyu's pulse.

"Can we lie down?" Mingyu whimpers again, voice vulnerable to any syllable he tries to make out. "I'm just tired and-"

"Of course." Wonwoo drags him over to the couch and Mingyu leans his head on his shoulder.

 

 

Mingyu wears the puff from his eyes when Seoyeon wakes up. He makes no fuss, no warning that eating something sweet in the morning might give Seoyeon a tummy ache if it's the first thing she'll eat in the morning. Wonwoo sits with Seoyeon at the table, guiding her on how to use the canister without pressing too hard. But her hands aren't that nimble yet because when she aims the nozzle at her plate, some of the white spray nowhere near the porcelain.

He grabs some baby wipes, runs a sheet over her face and her hair, her neck and her cheeks. He leaves the bits on her fingers so she can lick them off and asks if she wants him to do it instead. He stands up to grab some more as Mingyu forms a new stack but when he does, Mingyu's eyes linger somewhere other than Wonwoo's own. He lifts a hand, wipes a thumb at Wonwoo's lips, and licks the whipped cream off his finger. Wonwoo swallows hard and makes it back to the table, only to get up again because he never grabbed more pancakes on his first stand.

"So Minseo wants to see you," Mingyu starts off as he turns the stove off and places the pan into the sink. "And Seoyeon's cousins want her to sleep over."

"I'd love to see her again," Wonwoo complies right away. It's been his last visit since he last saw Mingyu's sister and he'd love to catch up with her, her family, and Anyang.

"Is it okay if we go tomorrow?"

Wonwoo shrugs, not really sure if he has a choice, but he is content with the narrow options. It's really been a while since he truly visited Anyang.

 

 

A fashion show unfolds at the kitchen after promising Seoyeon that they would help her pick which clothes to bring to Mingyu's hometown. It's quiet pauses between each outfit, one small change between one set of clothes and the next. It's stealing glances at each other and the first time it does happen, Wonwoo avoids his eyes, casts them down to the floor, wondering if he has something on his face before his ears can burn flush into his skin.

The warmth up his arm, light pressure on his cheek has Wonwoo looking up with a struggle to breathe in, but it's a different kind. He wants this flutter, fickle of his next steady breath with him.

Seoyeon steps out from the hallway and he doesn't even remember the outfit she asks about. All they want is the time between one outfit at the next, the change of a minute or two for Wonwoo to lean forward, sink the side of his face into Mingyu's shoulder. He takes this chance, though, knowing she might take more than a minute to change out, pick a new outfit, and walk back out.

He hesitates to lift a light kiss to Mingyu's jaw but when they part, their eyes trace out anywhere but each other. And it's different now. His feelings meshing up into worries becomes more clear where his heartbeats lie. It's a different side of Mingyu that he never saw before, and he wants to delve into it more.

Wonwoo sighs of content, his first one in a while, stills at the flit all over his chest. When he does catch Mingyu's eyes, all he can muster is a small smile that things can be okay again and a reminder that they have to check Seoyeon's clothes.

Her voice breaks them before Mingyu can come any closer, "I like this one better, don't you?"  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! the time has finally arrived for wonwoo and mingyu :')) but that doesn't mean the fic will just end right here c:  
> i'm no longer at pumpkyeom on tumblr, so here's some fresh links if you want to scream at me at [tumblr,](http://seokmints-thighs.tumblr.com/) [ twitter,](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity)


	14. Anyang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** topic of jihye comes up again. other than that, the only other warning is the possible winter cold and my writing style lmao :(

Dry spells across their skins curse Wonwoo's hand to slip from Seoyeon's gloved palms as he lifts her from the car. A kick of his instincts forward stuns any other thoughts between them as she trips into his arms, as he brings her back up to stand on the snow. But the curse doesn't shatter the hold on her hand as they board the elevator, as she rings the doorbell, as she hops to say hi to the camera and to the person behind the door. Airy pats over wood register into his ears first before the click of the door, and his feet lose their path to the right direction, stumble a bit behind him when he should be going forward.

Seoyeon's eyes fret between the ground and Wonwoo, and she lifts the tiny white dog in her hands, insisting that "Ahji doesn't bite. See? You can touch her fur." He turns to Mingyu smirking at the surprise and he releases his hand on his arm. A firm palm over his lower back, Mingyu guides him inside and away from the nerves.

When they step inside, his eyes trail Seoyeon's feet, rounding the corner at the hallway and disappearing into the wall. He follows Mingyu as the last strands of Minseo's hair bleeds through the hallway, calling out Yeeun and Yejoon, just when Seoyeon darts back with her arms snug around his waist.

He reaches down, kisses her forehead, and thanks her for moving Ahji somewhere else. As much as he would be embarrassed that she can pick up the dog with no dread of fear, Mingyu tells him that they'll keep Ahji in a separate room, away from Wonwoo during his stay. Seoyeon disappears again from below him, skids back into the hallway.

Wonwoo can't even recall the last time he last laid his eyes on a  _picture_  of Yeeun and Yejoon but when Minseo's kids start barreling in, Seoyeon hounding down their lighter footsteps, he pushes the thought out of his conscience. He would have mistaken them for twins, both standing Wonwoo's eye level when sitting down and the dark wavy hair bouncing. Their complexions share more from Mingyu's cheeks than Minseo's own paler side, and Mingyu points out the moles on the same spot, just opposite cheeks.

Yeeun's short hair, cut straight across, sways over her shoulders as she turns her face, points at the black dot in the middle hollow of her left cheek. Wonwoo disowns the urge to reach out and pinch her cheek. She calls out to Yejoon and when the ground straightens back under his feet, he turns to show his right cheek to Wonwoo. The urge flings back at him and he lifts a hand, pinches the same black dot on their cheeks, and asks how did they find that out.

"We-what did we do, Yejoon?" Yeeun stammers, and Wonwoo can't stop himself from leaning back on the couch, hiding behind Mingyu to diffuse his laughter over his shoulders.  _Why are they so cute?_

"We were going to school," Yejoon fills in the question.

"Oh, yeah," her voice airs out to make room for the spark in her eyes, resemblance of the day coming back to her, "and when Mommy wanted a picture, our faces just," she claps her hands together, "squished our faces together."

Yejoon skips out on planting his feet on the carpet. "Then we saw the picture and the moles!"

Seoyeon comes into his view, slipping around Yeeun and Yejoon to sink into his chest, circling her arms around his waist again. She rubs the top of her head under his jaw, rests his anxiety into ease. "Ahji won't go near you anymore."

 

 

As Mingyu and Minseo stalk into the kitchen, bickering popping between washing vegetables and slicing meet, popping more than the oil on the frying pan, Wonwoo forgets about relaxing into a position in the couch that won't sore out his spine as each of the kids try to steal peeks at the book on his lap. Through their "they're growing up too fast," Minseo's "I think they get all their height from you," and Mingyu's "and they all have Mom's eyes," Wonwoo goes through every sentence slower than how he would with Seoyeon, bears down each sentence at a pace the younger kids would follow. He manages to freak the calm from Yejoon when his voice booms to the sound of a canon, centers all their stares at his secret whisperings of the pirate's plans.

It's the first time Wonwoo meets Minseo's husband, though. A solid handshake elapses their greetings, introductions until Yejoon grabs his hand, leads him farther away from his father and back to the couch.

"Uncle Wonwoo, can you read this one?"

 

 

Even after wanting to talk to Donghyun about life in the States and his company in Incheon, Wonwoo resettles at the cushions with a different book in his hand. He waits for Seoyeon to sit between his legs, craning her neck to read the illustrations. He waits for Yeeun to swing an arm around his shoulder, around his neck, leaning onto him. He waits for Yejoon to prop himself against Wonwoo's leg, besides Seoyeon's head, point of his elbow drilling into the side of his thigh.

When he closes the book, Yeeun asks if she can put it away for him before dashing to the short bookshelf under the television. The kids sit in a circle around the bookshelf, Seoyeon pointing at each book, pronouncing out the title for the little ones.

He gets up to use the bathroom, passing by the kitchen and half his brain yearning to ditch his bladder for the blanket and pillows. The other half binds itself to the question Donghyun hurls at Mingyu. "When did you propose to Wonwoo?"

He forgets which door leads to where he first wanted to go, if he remembers where he wanted to go at all, and the "I'm not married to Wonwoo," the sharp clank of the blade on the cutting board, and a hiss tight between teeth don't help his memory, either. He ponders whether anything he's doing feeds the illusion that he and Mingyu are married because they're definitely not married; they haven't even discussed anything past the exhausted smiles that relieved his agony, the happiness permitted despite the distance.

The world snaps back at him when he hears Seoyeon demand across the apartment, "What happened, Daddy?"

With Donghyun's back facing him, scrubbing down the cutting board and the knife, Mingyu hops on his toes to the bathroom, slips by Wonwoo with his hand at his chest, guarding the blood dripping away from the children and oozing onto his shirt. He hears his name soak into the door and when he heads deeper into the hallway, Mingyu leans his head on the door, voice croaking to ask him to open the door for him.

Warm water rushes between Wonwoo's digits before caressing Mingyu's hand. The gash pierces deeper than most cuts he washed for Mingyu in the past, but he knows it will take a week or two before the skin closes back up. Nothing much has changed about this part of Mingyu.

"What did happen?" Wonwoo risks the question painting the pink glow at his neck. He hopes the fume at his skin is more from Mingyu slumping against him, head on his shoulder and occasionally flitting a light kiss on his neck. Mingyu's breath scalds hotter than the water when his lips lift up to his jaw. Wonwoo sticks his foot out to close the door all the way at the consideration of returning the kiss.

"Nothing," Mingyu sighs against his neck. He lifts his head when Wonwoo tapes a pad of gauze around his finger and hopes that none of the kids will see seeping blood any time soon. "I just got distracted."

He takes in the pout at Mingyu's lips, the worrying of his eyebrows as he examines his bandaged finger. His mind processes a blank slate, no doubts when it comes to leaning forward and sharing a gentle kiss at the corner of Mingyu's lips. Mingyu's eyes finally break from the wound, trades the worry with eyes shot open and pink rising at his cheeks.

It's a reaction Wonwoo never knew he wished for--Mingyu's falter of containing his smile into a straight line, heat suspending any coherent sentences from either one of them. At the corner of his eye, the mirror raids in the bright lights, never abandons him without the reflection of Wonwoo's own falter of containing his smile, the heat suspending any words from his own mouth.

He fans Mingyu's cheeks with his hands and when Mingyu points out that, "You're getting pink, too," he starts fanning Wonwoo's cheeks. "You still scrunch your nose," he also notes, how it never changed since the last time he was here.

But their own absurdity of the situation douses the realization into oblivion just as Mingyu winces, stops to curl a protective hand around his finger. Wonwoo can't help the laugh from his lips, "I just wrapped this. You have to take better care of your finger."

They spin back to the mirror, avoiding each other's eyes because when their eyes do cross paths, they start all over again with teeth clattering shut, only to sputter the last traces of the beam at their lips. Wonwoo thumbs the tear from his eyes, his throat scratches him sore and constricts any other sound in the best way possible. He surrenders keeping himself upright and collected, leans his head onto Mingyu's collarbone. Mingyu wraps an arm around Wonwoo, snakes a hand up to the back of his head, amusement of it all refining into delicate chuckles through their noses.

Wonwoo spreads his arms out across Mingyu's back, pulls him closer, and yearns for more of everything from and around this moment.

 

 

Once all the kids hop into pajamas, rinse the white foam from their mouths, Yeeun and Yejoon dash to their room as Seoyeon lingers behind to lean forward, kiss Wonwoo a goodnight before doing the same to Mingyu. She disappears into the hallway, announcing out for her younger cousins to wait for her because she has a story to share.

A second set of blankets and pillows balances hopeless on Mingyu's arms and he drops them all besides the bed to spread the sheets on the floor. As he clears out the floor from their bags--packs of Seoyeon's tissues, Mingyu's balled socks, and Wonwoo's glasses wipes littered here and there--he wonders why Mingyu arranges himself a separate bed when they've been sharing the mattress and blankets this entire time. Company on the cramped bed isn't so bad if it isn't too much to ask of Mingyu.

"Hey," startles out of Wonwoo's throat after the sheet flattens out. The question singes the tip of his tongue, smothers his palate in trepidation. But after Mingyu stops folding the blanket in his hand, after he drops the pillow, after he opens up all his attention to Wonwoo, he speaks up because Mingyu will listen, even when a word ceases to kindle. "Can you..."

But he's afraid Mingyu will say no, that he would balk to answer. The question ebbs down for the craving to guide his hand into Mingyu's, to steal some of the winter heat under the sheets. It sheds to grasping each chance he can with Mingyu because once he goes back, once his plane ticket sets him back home, he won't have any of it.

Something flickers across Mingyu's eyes, tracing down his face, and it makes Wonwoo shift between the pillows for even asking. But Mingyu gathers the blanket and pillows, crawls right beside Wonwoo without a word. He throws the blanket over both of them, stuffs the pillow under his head, and curls into Wonwoo, slipping a hand at his waist. Light pecks flutter at the back of his neck, at the border between dark strands and rising goosebumps, and he sighs at the placating pressure easing his skin.

If only Wonwoo punched the apprehension from his mind, he would turn around and return each one of them. But for now, he thinks, this is enough. Right now is more than enough.

\----

If Wonwoo swore that the kids would always be together during this visit, today just breaks it. When they head to the mall, Yeeun and Yejoon pull Mingyu's hands to the toy store, beckoning for something to build with him because "Uncle Mingyu can make anything." In the meantime, Seoyeon points at the bookstore, asks Wonwoo if they can look at bigger books this time, skim through the atlas of the world, scale up high-rising bookshelves.

In between dropping from one shop and the next, Mingyu and Wonwoo slip in bag of baby clothes, diapers, pacifiers, baby wipes on their wrists because if Seungcheol and Yujin are expecting three, they will need more than they think. Wonwoo knits Mingyu's digits into his with the promise that if Yujin delivers after he returns to New York, he will give them everything in these bags. Nothing can knock the smile off Mingyu's face and nothing can stop him from peeking into the bag after folding the receipts inside.

Before they begin their trip to the parking lot, they stop at a frozen yogurt shop. Wonwoo lifts Seoyeon a few times to reach for the serving spoons far back into the counter, to dig out from tubs of animal crackers, yogurt chips, and cookie dough toppings her fingertips wouldn't be able to brush without him. When Mingyu pushes his card out of the way, Wonwoo pouts at the unswiped card, but it fades when Seoyeon hauls him to the table closest to the water fountain brimming with strawberry slices at the top.

Wonwoo empties his small cup and a third of Seoyeon's because as he sews through methods to help Minseo's kids learn to read and write, Seoyeon probes his lips with a spoon of vanilla, chocolate, pineapple, watermelon sorbet, waiting for Minseo to start continuing the halt in the conversation before doing so. At the table behind Minseo, Donghyun passes napkins to Mingyu to clean off Yejoon's face, leaves some for himself to dab Yeeun's lips.

A shiver fuses down his spine and with his arm pressed so close to Seoyeon, she looks up with a giggle barely teetering off her lips. But Wonwoo coaxes the laugh out with his own, bellows out to all three of them teasing about how rubbing his hands together heats up his hands but not his entire body. When Seoyeon is halfway through her cup, fingers coiling back into a fist and quivering with the cold, he enfolds them under his and rubs his palms to fend back the chill. She scoots closer, hops the chair until a metal leg collides with Wonwoo's chair, and exchanges another second of a shiver. He blows hot air into her hands, wondering aloud why they thought this was a good idea.

Minseo leans down to Seoyeon, drops a couple of gummy worms into her cup that draws out a string of thank you's. "You really love Uncle Wonwoo, do you, Seoyeon?"

Seoyeon's eyes remain fixated to picking the long gummy worms with her spoon, but she nods, chin delving into her scarf. Wonwoo doesn't stop himself from leaning over, planting a quiet kiss at the top of her head.

 

 

At the kitchen, words between Minseo and Donghyun sizzle with the frying pan and debates of whether or not everyone will fit around the dining table. In the living room, Mingyu sits up straight at the coffee table, plastic parts strewn all over the wood with no intentions of pulling them apart or together yet, with Yeeun on one side and Yejoon on at the other. Yeeun sounds out each character, instruction packets boring into her eyes, and when she slips in the wrong vowel, Mingyu waits for her to finish the sentence before high-fiving her, circling the vowel with a pencil, and telling her what it actually sounds like. Yejoon  _vrooms_  the remote control to life without yanking out any pieces from the packaging, and Wonwoo thinks that it might be just as great to not even build the car.

"Do you want a red car?" Mingyu asks Yeeun before turning to Yejoon. "Pink?" His head snaps back to Yeeun and the entire table carries each of the colors from his lips, bouncing from Yeeun to Yejoon and back to Yeeun again. "Yellow? Blue? Green?" He lists off more colors than Wonwoo would like to think about against the black text and white pages of Seoyeon's new story printed at her lap.

 

 

Seoyeon hops into the bed with Wonwoo, her arm hugging his waist from behind. Wonwoo pats her hand over his stomach, asks Mingyu if he's sure about sharing the bed with Seoyeon tonight.

Wonwoo picks up the pillow from the floor and brings it to his chest, burying her hand with the plush. "Won't your back hurt tomorrow?"

"No, but it's  _my_  sister's apartment. You're the guest," Mingyu solidifies his decision, yanking his pillow back.

 

 

After the four finish drying all the kids, changing them into pajamas, and ensuring that they brush their teeth, Wonwoo lies down with Seoyeon, her chin digging into his chest as she bites into the air, listens to the clacks of her teeth. When he props his glasses at the nightstand, ready to kiss Seoyeon a goodnight and for sleep to snipe him, "Can you tell me a story?"

The sheets shuffle below, Mingyu flipping over to watch him tell the story. "So we left off with the last customer of the day. She walks in, a little nervous. Anyone can tell by how her steps are hesitant, like she doesn't want to go inside. She's also looking around everywhere. She wipes her hand on her bag, jacket, pants, anything she can put her hands on." Wonwoo lifts his hand, plants his palm at the crown of her head and ruffles her hair. "Maybe she'll even wipe her hand on your head" wakes up the night hours with her laugh, inflicts the moonlight away with Mingyu's chuckle. "The shopkeeper doesn't even say hello because he knows it might make her more nervous. He's seen it happen with others.

"She asks how much a beauty pageant contestant jar costs. 'Does it cost more than the surgeon jar?' she asks.

"The shopkeeper takes the jars out, tells her the prices. She's deciding which one to get, but she starts crying. He brings out a box of tissues and-"

"Does she want to be a surgeon or in a beauty pageant?" Seoyeon asks quietly. She blinks the thought at her eyes, weighing the question and the truth in front of her.

"Oh, well, the shopkeeper asks her which jar she's really looking for. She wipes her eyes and tells him that she's looking for a dancer jar. So he gets the jar from upstairs."

"So she didn't want to be a surgeon or beauty pageant?" breaks her voice, stills everything around them. "Why didn't she ask the dancer jar first, then?"

Wonwoo pulls her close, wants her to listen more to this part than any other part of the story. "Because when people tell you what you should do, sometimes it's not what you really want. So when the shopkeeper comes back with the dancer jar, he asks if she wants this jar more than the beauty pageant and surgeon jars.

"She says yes, that she will take the dancer jar. She pays for the jar, thanks Mr. Youngho, and leaves. The shopkeeper wishes a goodbye to Dong Jiwoo. When he-"

"Hey, I think she fell asleep," Mingyu interrupts. Wonwoo hasn't bothered to look down at her since her question, and he takes in her slow breathing, parted lips, jaws slack against his shoulder that's similar to Mingyu.

He pulls the blanket up to her chin, throws a goodnight over his shoulder to Mingyu, and receives one in return.

 

 

Wonwoo's pulse leaps out from his veins when he hears a muffled sniff, a stifled sob. He opens his eyes to Mingyu at first, but he snores with a hand over his chest. He then turns to Seoyeon, to a hushed and scared "Daddy" that escapes her lips. He contemplates that since Mingyu can sleep through thunder up the window and rain down his back, it might take a while longer to kick him awake.

He pushes the blankets aside and the headboard sears into his back as he leans against it. She blinks with a quiet frown, burying her face into the pillow, and he gathers her in his arms, sets her on his lap. His arms gather as much as he can of her and rocks her on his lap, kisses her forehead and keeps her close to him. His imagination dreads for what the first time must have been like for Mingyu.

Her nails scrape into his shirt, stretching the material as he assures her that "it's not real, Seoyeon." His brain scrambles for something to say to gravitate her back to reality. "Do you hear my heartbeat? Do you feel it against your ear?" Seoyeon nods against his chest and he tells her that if she hears that sound, then it's okay, she's safe, her dreams won't hurt her anymore.

Mingyu stirs from his slumber, head jerking up and his knuckles rumbling into the hardwood. He sits at the edge of the bed and soothes a hand over Seoyeon's back, whispering that "We're right here, it was just a bad dream."

"It was so scary, though," her voice squeaks as she buries her face into Wonwoo's chest. His shirt dampens where she chokes. "Stay here, Uncle Wonwoo," she sobs, fingernails digging into his skin.

Mingyu picks her up, places her on his lap with her legs on Wonwoo's thighs. Sleep clings onto Mingyu's voice and he clears his throat, smears the heel of his palm over his eyes. "What happened, Seoyeon? Do you want to talk about your bad dream?"

Seoyeon inhales once, twice before starting her nightmare of "Daddy going in this hole and Uncle Wonwoo had to go, too, but when I tried going in, they won't let me." Wonwoo holds onto her feet at his lap, runs his thumb at the pads to placate the bad dream away from her memory somehow. Wonwoo doesn't remember his first nightmare growing up, but he can't imagine it ever leaving him like this.

They wait for the tears to dry, for Seoyeon to feel comfortable about going back to sleep. It takes an hour of asking if she wants to drink water, if she wants to walk around the apartment with her dad, if she's starting to get sleepy, if she wants Uncle Wonwoo to tell her a story. She shakes her head, blurts out that she doesn't want to go to sleep in fear of encountering the same nightmare again.

For the sake of familiarity, Wonwoo stretches his back out on the floor and Mingyu settles on the bed with Seoyeon, hand rising up and falling, patting Seoyeon to lull her back to sleep.

\----

When Wonwoo wakes up, breathing transforms into a struggle in double-checking that he's actually breathing, instead of simply inhaling and exhaling, but relief washes him up when he lifts a hand to Seoyeon's bird nest of hair. She flips her head, colder cheek warming up his stomach, before tilting her eyes up at him.

"Did you sleep okay?" Wonwoo asks, voice scraping his throat too soon into the hours. "Did you have a bad dream again?"

Before Seoyeon can answer him, he feigns a groan at the weight dropped on his legs, of Yeeun and Yejoon clinging onto each of his ankles. He sits up, Seoyeon sliding off his chest, when Minseo calls out for the kids to eat breakfast.

Wonwoo waddles with Yejoon's butt on his foot and arms around his leg as Seoyeon guides Yeeun out of the room, as if it's her own home. His leg screams at him for exerting so much energy not long after waking up, but it's worth seeing the drop of Mingyu's lips open at him.

"The kids must love you a lot," Mingyu grins around the spoon in his mouth.

Wonwoo picks Yejoon up, wiggles into the air surging out to giggles into everyone's morning, before sitting him on the booster seat at the table. He slips into the seat besides Mingyu, and his eyes linger somewhere lower than Wonwoo's own.

He wants to lean in, to close the distance until distance etches unknown from their lips, and maybe Mingyu does, too. But Wonwoo shakes his head, doesn't want to spoil the kids' morning by kissing him in front of them. The pout Mingyu proposes simmers something in his stomach warm and light. It's a feeling unknown, and it's one he hopes he'll never get used to.

 

 

Most of the day involves sitting with Minseo at the couch, watching the kids race the cars around the apartment. She sifts past the topics of Wonwoo's everyday life in New York, of how the only illness his body casts off vulnerable to is homesickness, of her kids reaching that stage of life where they fabricate their imaginations into pretends, of Seoyeon becoming the closest thing to a remedy for his illness. She wades into how he and Mingyu are doing. His eyes waterfall down to his lap and he almost asks how she knows.

But being Mingyu's sister, Minseo opens him up about Mingyu than anyone else. "I like it," he cautions out each word. "I don't know what to call it, but I really like how Mingyu and I are right now."

 

 

For the second time this entire visit, he curses. He curses at the bleak hours for waking him up, groans at the clock telling him that two in the morning has yet to pave way to his sleep, but it dissipates when his blinks offer some clarity to Minseo tucking her hair behind her ear, hugging herself. From the blur without his glasses, her eyebrows gnaw in concern, lips barely breaking and closing back up. Just like Mingyu, the question of why and what never gambles the way out for her to say anything.

"I heard the door open and I think Mingyu went for a walk," she explains, her eyes darting everywhere but on Wonwoo at the next words. "Can you check up on him?"

He should have woken up to the bed moving, to the absence of Mingyu from right beside him. He pushes the regret away to stand up, throw on a winter jacket on top of another one. He drapes a third over his arm, thinking Mingyu might have underestimated the weather at this time of the year. He heads out to the door, stuffs his feet at his shoes, and the folding clicks of his glasses zones him back to everything in front of him.

He accepts his glasses from Minseo with a mere thanks, but she declines it. "No, I should thank you for going out to him."

"Is there somewhere he usually goes to?"

She shakes her head, supplies that he might just be walking around the block. "He never goes too far, but it's hard to find him right away."

 

 

Wonwoo jogs around the block, dissecting the giant among the trees, above the cars, long legs sticking out from snow piles. He passes by a pair walking at this hour, knows by their periphery grating at his shoulders that it's not Mingyu. The block closes up at his starting point when a silhouette drags its hand over its face, coughs out a sob that doesn't sound too distant from his memory.

When the silhouette turns around, Wonwoo catches the gloss at Mingyu's eyes, pink numbing his nose that might not be from the nips of the winter breeze. Breaths loud into white smoke, Mingyu turns his head to the other way of the sidewalk, away from him.

But he stays there, weight of his head sinking everything lower, and Wonwoo tests out a few steps forward, tests if Mingyu will book it. When their breaths bleed together and evaporate above them, he wipes the tears from Mingyu's face, sniffs the tears from his own.

The flimsy jacket does nothing to fight against the winds, can protect nothing close to the snow. Wonwoo tugs the coat on for Mingyu, slips his arms into the sleeves, and drags the zipper to his throat. Wonwoo slips his arms around Mingyu, pulls him closer, and Mingyu cements his breaths against his neck, stuttering inhales and forceful exhales revolving into a tiring halt. A hand snakes its way over the back of Wonwoo's head, threads some of his hair into his fingers, and he takes him in closer. They trade warmth, smearing tears over Mingyu's shoulder.

"I had a dream about Jihye," Mingyu mumbles against his neck. "I had a dream she called to see Seoyeon and I was so stupid to wake up and check my phone."

He pulls his head back, to do something to relieve the tears, but Mingyu's head continues to sink forward, blindly search for his shoulder. Mingyu's shut eyes, breaths harshly flaring his nose to keep them inside, useless attempts to harden his breaths. It's damp inhales from the winter, from the tears, and he doesn't stop his search for his shoulder when his forehead lands on Wonwoo's.

Wonwoo's heart marches up his throat at the proximity of Mingyu's breaths over his, how easy he can hear everything collapse all at once. And it's when he starts to catch the pink and brown of Mingyu's eyes that he robs every second to stare down at Wonwoo before the weight lifts off and a chill streaks across his forehead.

"You should go back inside," without glancing back at Wonwoo. "Tell Minseo I'm fine. I'll come back later."

"Can I walk with you?"

His eyes scrape down Wonwoo once, drags back up to Wonwoo with a shaky inhale, a defeated nod. "Please?" dissolves into the winter.

 

 

He throws in three times, three attempts at slowing Mingyu down, to heave a deep breath and let it all out under a tree, at a bench, behind a car, even after the signal grants them to cross the street. But Mingyu tugs his hand forward, to keep going, to keep walking. Wonwoo wonders how long this has been going on, leaving in the middle of the night to air our his thoughts.

"It never happens at Seoul," he admits, fingers tightening around Wonwoo's. "I only do it in Anyang because Seoyeon won't be alone if I go, since she has Minseo and her kids." Mingyu shakes his head once. "Anyang doesn't have bad memories," doesn't carry the harsh realities ingrained into the streets of Seoul.

 

 

The elevator ride up to Minseo's floor echoes the two of them off the walls, and they talk to each other through the mirror images in front of them. Huddled up into the corner, Mingyu leans onto him as if gravity pressurized them into this exact spot and nowhere else in the world. When he thanks Wonwoo again for walking with him, he tells him to wake him up next time when he wants to walk again, that he wants to come along.

The elevator doors part at the start of the hallway but not their hands. Not even when they reach the end of the hallway, to Minseo's door. Mingyu punches in the code, gives into the click of the handle open, for the door to open, allows his lips against Wonwoo's cheek before letting themselves inside.

Wonwoo busies himself with shredding Mingyu's clothes off after claiming the fabric might be mixed with sweat and snow, probability that a cold will chase Mingyu coming too close for comfort. A dark smear down Mingyu's spine convinces the both of them. He starts patting the sweat down Mingyu's back, and Mingyu refuses to look up as he slips into another shirt.

It's nothing new to them; they've seen this sight since they shared bathrooms with every other student in their dorm's floor. A word ceases to elapse, thinking Mingyu had enough already. Mingyu starts tugging Wonwoo's jacket off and it's just then, he realizes, he hasn't changed out of anything from the outside.

When they crawl into bed with no questions of Mingyu sleeping on the floor and Wonwoo sleeping alone, he tucks Mingyu's head under his chin, throat caught at the light pressure at the base of his neck and lips releasing a sigh from Mingyu's lips there. His hands slip their ways around Wonwoo's waist, sinks him under tight that his shirt and jacket ride up his back and Mingyu's palms paint warmth all over his skin. The assurance of having Mingyu so close to him, tender strokes into his scalp after Mingyu starts breathing softly against his neck, Wonwoo wishes he can take all of this to New York.

 

 

Anyang engraves a brush into Wonwoo's skin, but he wants the city to bury in deeper. He doesn't want to leave the city, not just yet, but they have to if it means beating the traffic home in the morning. He remembers to kiss Yeeun and Yejoon on the cheek, peck the spots on their moles because Donghyun says it's the only place where they accept kisses nowadays. He's slapped back to his brother when Seoyeon tiptoes up to Donghyun, puckers her lips, and he shyly giggles behind his hand.

Mingyu doesn't challenge Wonwoo's offer to drive them all back home. Mingyu slips into the back with Seoyeon, the quiet drive to lulling the two of them to sleep, despite the ride stealing not even an hour from the clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly let's just pretend, for the sake of this fic and for my heart, that dogs live forever. ahji is old but i can't let her go :(  
> i'm updating a little faster than usual because i'm fixing my time management now that i started working again and final exam season is getting close. and i pretty much write when i don't want to study, so guess who hasn't been studying lately skldjkjf  
> happy holidays and i hope you all stay warm this winter!!  
> i'm over here on [tumblr,](http://seokmints-thighs.tumblr.com/) [ twitter,](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity)  
> 


	15. Seoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** wonwoo leaving?? mayhaps one of the sadder warnings :c  
>  this fic is now 100k+....zamn

The elevator ride airbrushes Mingyu's swelled eyes against cold reflections, blanches out the drag of his shoulders closer to the floor and the hair out of Seoyeon's face, her cheek slanting on Wonwoo's shoulder. It punches his previous apprehensions drunk and heart sobering out to a mellow beat, rips up last night to a short nonexistence to zero his attention on Seoyeon's breaths over a strip on his neck and her hair running down his own shoulder like a blanket. Mingyu surrenders the wiring of his brows to shove yesterday in the rain, muffled behind shut elevator doors.

Seoyeon huffs against his neck, shifts for her heart to relax against Wonwoo's own. He reaches a hand across her back to brush the hair from her face, but Mingyu steps closer to slip strands from her lips. When the ends of her hair grace away from her nose, her mouth, Mingyu gives him the smallest smile, the most hopeful thing he's seen in recent days, and he promises to hold onto it into the day.

  
When the moon invites both of them to the couch, their shoulders yearn for each other, heads searching for the perfect spot to rest on. Mingyu spreads Wonwoo's hand over his, airy touches feathering over his palm that has him curling his fingers and finding a way to slot them in between. A flood of things Wonwoo wants to mention before daylight chases them--suggestion of Mingyu slipping into the bed so Seoyeon won't be alone, his heart begging for time to stop this once, wishing he won't have to abandon all of this behind.

But Mingyu stops the water from getting too deep too fast, dithers at a low, "Do we really make you happy?"

Wonwoo thinks Mingyu fits the wrong pieces together, forces them in a completely different puzzle. Every little thing comes together, paints a bright light into Wonwoo's life--from watching Seoyeon sleep beside him to hearing Mingyu cook something not far in the kitchen, from their hands entwining like this moment to carrying Seoyeon onto his lap, from the invisible string connecting him across the ocean to the bare slits between their arms at the couch, from seeing each other on their screens to sitting across each other at the same dinner table. He confesses they really do and if there's one thing that shoots a flutter at Wonwoo's heart, lashes at his doubts, it's, "Even hearing her 'I love you, Uncle Wonwoo' makes me really happy."

Mingyu chuckles, revives the sound at his ears, and it stings him that it's been days since he last heard that sound. "I realize your work has you hearing 'I love you' a million times, yet you don't say it. Isn't that weird?"

Wonwoo shrugs, fingers frozen at the words he knows clients would tell him if they swallowed down more guts than their harsh words. He remembers his first client in the States, drilling the idea into his beliefs that he shouldn't be the one telling others what to say and how to say it on their wedding days. A tightrope of insults, biting back his own attacks, and all the times his balance threw him off and nearly landed him to drop the pen, pack up everything in his office, and go back home.

He's not sure if he wants to open his mouth, in fear of hurting Mingyu, but when Mingyu lifts his head up and scans his face, "What? What did I say?"

He shakes his head, slight jerk of his hand back from his grasp. "Nothing. Nothing, Mingyu," monotone through gritted teeth. But he blinks back the tears because _out of anyone who tells me that again, it has to be Mingyu_. His lungs wring every bit of air and the only thing he can see is his hand trembling at his lap once he frees it from Mingyu's hand. He wants to stand up, wake Seoyeon up and tell her another story, bid Mingyu a goodnight and that they can have this talk in the next morning Wonwoo won't breathe in Seoul air, anything but have this talk with him.

"Is it the 'I love you?'" Mingyu's eyes map out a millimeter at a time on his face, snaps back up when Wonwoo test out an apprehensive glance at him, and almost tells him that it was. Wonwoo's eyes flick up to Mingyu's, back down to his hands, and it's all it takes for Mingyu to move forward and bury his face in his neck, bury him in his arms. Apologies storm in, faster than the heat on his skin, and the volume wears out his worries of waking Seoyeon up.

Wonwoo backs away on the couch, away from Mingyu's apology for spitting something so rude and insensitive. "It was annoying to hear, it still is. And to think that people would drop me from helping them because they found out. Why did that matter so much? Why did they have to look so disgusted when-" The bottom of Mingyu's eyes well right in front of him, and he wants to do something to dry the tears somehow. "I'm sorry, Mingyu, I didn't mean to-" Words fail him, "I'm so sorry," his guts demand for him to reach out, "I'm sorry for getting angry like that," and for once, he listens to them.

Mingyu's face bleeds warmth all over his palms, exhales a fever when he strokes the tears off. "It's okay. You're here to forget about those people and I just," his eyes dart across his face, and Wonwoo frets about the shock at his eyes. But it all fades when he asks, "Wonwoo, are you crying?"

He blinks the blur out his eyes, forgets that his glasses are on and the world is right. Despite the space between, Mingyu's laugh brushes against his, melds into consoling the one from his lips, and breathing in Mingyu's air like his own glitters down his lungs. Mingyu's palms evade his cheeks, soothes under his eyes and beneath the rims of his glasses. It's a simple act, one that has him questioning how much time ticked since anyone last did this to him.

"We're both crying. I hate you, Wonwoo," is low, nasal, croaky from his lips. The space depletes their foreheads sink together, and Wonwoo frees the chuckle into the open.

Delicate puffs of hair, to explore permission to lean even closer, the spark in Mingyu's eye, the way they float down to somewhere lower. Everything pushes him to seal the space even more and when he does, when he drives all caution out their periphery, it's a chaste brush of lips at first, coat of tears knocked back with a sigh they can't tell whose lips it escapes from and whose lips it evaporates into. The gasp doesn't break the two and if anything, the world flutters sparks behind his eyes, against pitch black, when a hand winds up to the back of his head and another lays flat on his chest, reaching for his shoulder.

Wonwoo presses himself even more into Mingyu when his lips part and Mingyu steals the empty space again. His mind skips around the implications of this moment, to keep himself in this even longer.

Their lips give way to Wonwoo's fingers latching onto Mingyu's shirt as if he will disappear. It's a whisper that rattles the tension at the pit of his stomach, the unease towering into his throat, unspoken worries possibly molding into his future, and the race of his eyes to search for a sign that this is all wrong. The same whisper holds him with cautious hands, "Wonwoo, I don't want to force anything on you. If you're scared or anything, you can tell me right away." Mingyu swallows hard at the next part, "Please don't hold back."

He listens to the way his veins thrum in the gust of panting, in Mingyu's palms sliding to cup his neck, brush a finger at his jaw, anchor his thumbs behind his ears. He pulls on Mingyu's shirt closer against his, robs another quick kiss and the promise that he won't hold back. "I like this right now. I love it."

The sheen on Mingyu's lips refract light from afar, sends everything against Wonwoo from the drop of his hands, pounding of his heart. The living room shuts down to shadows, but Mingyu's eyes manage to capture a spark everywhere. Mingyu breaks the silence with a, "Are you okay? Is-is this too much?"

A tiny peck at the corner of Mingyu's lips, purposely missing where they both want to meet, crushes the question. If he did land one where they want it to happen, his heart might burst from the hard pulse branching to his temples, neck, even down to his digits. His heart might burst at the world fading away, at fooling himself this entire time. "I just can't believe this is happening."

\----

His back lazes against the plush and when he dares to crack a slit of his eye open, his glasses stare at him from the opposite nightstand, Seoyon's sleep drapes her leg over his, and Mingyu is nowhere to be seen but everywhere to be heard. His eyes skitter from the curtains in the bedroom, the sharp corner of the nightstand by his side, his bag opened up against the dresser, everything in the bedroom that's not in the living room.

His back aches this time at the thought of sleeping in this bed again. The morning scrutinizes each crack of his spine as he thinks about the night Mingyu told him of the nights following the divorce, Mingyu digging his face into his neck, cried his doubts of being a good father to Seoyeon. The morning also reminds him of Seoyeon waking up from nightmares alone. He wants to stay put, to relieve her way back to reality, but he doesn't want to stay, either. His fingers itch to push the sheets off and leave because the world won't let him forget the last person who would, who _should_ , have been here, instead.

He checks the hour, much too early into the day for Seoyeon to even consider flipping to the other side. Maybe Seoyeon will be more than excited to hear the sound of her father cooking, the hums in between grumbling repetitions of ingredients. He slips off the bed, sprawls the blankets all over Seoyeon at the middle of the mattress, and to the kitchen.

In between Mingyu's morning tune at the stove, hair bobbing more than his actual head when he slips a spoon into the sink, Wonwoo slides onto the lone stool at the counter, chin at his hand. The early sunlight hazes him with a warm glow from the standing ends of his bed hair to curling his toes against cold hardwood. Morning grays into glass don't burn at his eyes as much and if anything, once his feet pave a way to Mingyu, the morning radiance of leaning his head at the valley of Mingyu's shoulders washes off the scowl against six o'clock.

It shouldn't feel _that_  much different to what they've been used to, he tries to convince himself, but his heart beats eager for Mingyu's chuckle reverberating down his spine and on his forehead, how he can hear each one of Mingyu's heartbeats and his chest inching up and down with each of his inhales, exhales, indecipherable lilts of the song. His heart bounds even more at the thought of Seoyeon waking up at any second, joining them at the counter or in Wonwoo's arms, yawning with him because no matter what time they wake up, the first few minutes after opening their eyes are always sleepy ones.

It hits Wonwoo, then, of his longing for a simple touch of intimacy, the days and months and even years since he last initiated anything close to brushing fingertips without retracting back, and his longing for something like this in New York. He spent years cooped up in his apartment and in his office without anyone to be comfortable with in opening up physically. The only time he held someone's hand is when a client recalls painful times of their lives or when he hikes up to the bridal and suit departments, consoles those who are afraid of wanting something they don't deserve to wear. He wonders how he managed to do that all these years.

"Hey, Wonwoo?" Wonwoo lifts his head, chin perched at Mingyu's shoulder. He catches the bean sprouts soaking into the broth, vanish deep into the red surface. His voice caves into the frailest sound he's ever heard, and it sinks him in how much weight Mingyu's words can hold. "What would you do if Seoyeon called you her dad now?"

He's not sure and more time to think about this possibility is something he wishes he had right now. But he's afraid to think of it, and his mind hollows out when he shrugs and Mingyu doesn't pry him any further.

  
"Seoyeon has a dentist appointment today." Mingyu pats down rice with a spoon, pouting when sticky grains don't stick to the rim of the bowl and bounce into the sink. "So if you want to hang out with the guys, I can drop you off before her appointment."

At the table, Wonwoo sweeps a finger to fend off knotting strands of Seoyeon's hair from her face, to behind her ear. He doesn't give much thought to it, though, because on one hand, he'll treat himself to another day with the guys but on the other, he can see what Seoyeon is like when a stranger picks at her teeth. He wonders if she's afraid of the dentist, if the dentist is gentle with her baby teeth, if Mingyu sits at the other side of the operating seat and distracts her from all the sharp tools probing her mouth.

"Can I come with you?" he decides.

"Can you really?" Seoyeon perks up, sitting straighter at her seat before tipping over and dipping her face into Wonwoo's chest. He caresses a hand behind her head when a balloon inflates at his chest, ready to pop at anything Seoyeon does. Maybe it really is a balloon because an odd, hot stretch at his shoulder sends his entire being coiling back into his seat. He looks down to Seoyeon puffing her cheeks and blowing air, leaves him pleading for her to stop because "It feels so weird, Seoyeon."

Something flickers at Mingyu's eyes; perhaps it's sharp corners fading off the morning scowl with content, reassurance that he won't be going to her appointment alone this time. Perhaps it's his fingers sneaking into Wonwoo's over the table, or perhaps it's Wonwoo's verbal wonderings of what the dentist appointment offers him today.

  
After signing Seoyeon in and bidding her a goodbye behind the door, to slip into the seat by herself, Mingyu nudges his shoulder, murmurs that, "Seoyeon is actually afraid of the thing that scrapes your teeth."

Wonwoo grins at that, but he bites it back because he shouldn't be laughing at something like that. The grin passing onto Mingyu soaks down his thoughts into an okay, but the drop of his lips, how they never reach his eyes, has him squeezing Mingyu's hand he never realized he was holding and offering to sit through her check-up by her side. Mingyu nods, spark of his smile withering out all at once, thanks him, and shuffles to a seat in the waiting room.

He asks the receptionist if he can be there as Seoyeon gets her teeth cleaned and once she opens the door for him, he finds Seoyeon's head swaying side to side, tips of her toes following the same directions, and shoots of her hair fanning over the edges of cushion. The stool must be for the assistant, but he wheels it over, plops down like it's his own home, and looms beside Seoyeon.

Wonwoo props his elbow at the armrest of the stool, his chin at his palm. "Are you excited to get your teeth checked?"

"Yeah, they told me they will give me stickers again," Seoyeon smiles, stretching her lower lip out to showcase the gaps narrowing from the fallen baby teeth.

"Did they give you stickers last time?"

"Oh, you don't look like Mingyu," startles her answer to a halt above them. He turns to a woman in scrubs and behind a mask. After hesitating to introduce himself as her uncle, he apologizes and the only excuse he has for being there is really to just be there for Seoyeon while they clean her teeth.

The light above her forces him to blink the glare out and away and his hand finds Seoyeon's on her stomach. He instructs her to squeeze his hand if anything starts to hurt, if it starts to scare her. After tapping each one of her teeth, hovering to catch a better glimpse at the back of her teeth, the dentist asks Wonwoo if he can hand over the seat for her assistant.

From the top of the chair, he smooths a hand over her hair, kisses the top of her head the second she lets out a faint whimper, when the curette comes into view. He leans over to wipe the tears from her eyes and apologizes, "It might hurt a little, but they want to make sure your teeth are okay."

She nods under his palms, nods at the dentist after humming an approval to continue.

  
A minute after the machines stop whirring a fume, the lights flick dead, when the dentist heads out for the receptionist's table and her assistant goes off to find the right bottle to sanitize the sink, Seoyeon sits up, whimpers for her father. The first time, the word shudders into the pout at her lips. The second time, he glances over to Mingyu still sleeping at the waiting room. The third time, he kneels down in front of her, allows her as much time as she needs to fall into his arms and for him to lift her up. She slumps against him, arms around his shoulders, and he runs a palm up and down her back.

Once her breathing settles on his neck, after he commends her for doing so well, he tells her that "We have to thank the dentist for cleaning your teeth."

He sets her back down on the floor, hand on her back, and he doesn't have to mention it to her again for her to thank the dentist. The dentist pulls down the fresh mask under her chin, kneels down to Seoyeon's level, and protects Seoyeon's small palm between hers. "I'm sorry it hurt, Seoyeon. I know it was really scary, but thank you for being brave."

Seoyeon nods, smears the back of her palm at her eyes with a trembling jut of her lower lip. It's the receptionist calling her to the front that stops the frightened movement of her mouth, the tear from falling. Wonwoo trails behind her as she maps behind the front desk.

The receptionist spins at the chair before Seoyeon and opens a drawer beside her. Inside, Wonwoo counts _at least_  ten different Disney movies on sticker sheets, pencils, pens, erasers, sticky notes.

"Remember when I told you to get two last time?" Seoyeon nods, head stalking from the receptionist's eyes to the school supplies. "Well, this one was scarier, so you can take another two."

With the receptionist, Seoyeon leafs through each sheet, teardrop suspending from the bottom of her eye as she's asked about having this sticker set already or watching that movie. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, of knowing Mingyu must have sat at these appointments alone for so long.

Behind the desk, his eyes skip around with Mingyu still sleeping at the waiting room, neck screaming at the strain from abandoning it at an uncomfortable angle but not bothering to listen to a second of it. It must be exhausting doing everything by himself, on top of working and calling Wonwoo. He sighs again, wants things to be better for Mingyu, and he wishes he can help Mingyu take a breath.

When Seoyeon bounces at his feet, arms up with slips of stickers and pencils at her hand, he walks out with Seoyeon at the bent of his elbow and a concern stopping any more steps.

"Wonwoo, when are you available for her next check-up?"

He turns around at the question, mind fraying at the fact that he probably won't be here for her next appointment. He excuses himself to shake Mingyu's shoulder, balancing Seoyeon at his hip, and tells Mingyu that he has to schedule her next appointment in a few months. Mingyu nods, rubbing at his eyes, and thanks him again for staying with her.

As Mingyu works something out with his work, Seoyeon's school, and the dentist's business hours, Wonwoo leads Seoyeon to the window overlooking a few stories of the white city. In between her hesitation to peel the Russell sticker halfway or completely freeing it from the sheet, his ears pick up a, "When did you remarry?" that throws him off.

Mingyu stutters around that he's not married, that has Wonwoo tripping at the realization that people are walking in through the door and he happens to be standing in their way.

He wonders if Seoyeon heard the question, too.

  
The moment he sneaks onto the couch, his fingertips ricochet across his lap, on the couch, flatten under his legs as his knee bounces, and even pressing his palm down on his knee can't stop it from shaking. He listens to the squeak of the faucet, clank of the toothbrush into the plastic cup, resounding louder at his ears, despite coming from the other side of the apartment.

Sleeping on the same bed again, being where Seoyeon didn't want to be with Mingyu, brims everything to being everywhere but that spot because that spot must mean a lot to Seoyeon. It _was_  where she slept with _both_  of her parents. He wonders if Seoyeon holds onto the memories of the nights before everything fell apart.

When the bathroom door clicks open, Wonwoo gets up and silently begs for Mingyu to look at him. When their eyes do meet, Wonwoo puffs out a shallow breath as the subject plummets the face of the earth.

Mingyu steers his feet from the bedroom to the living room and his eyes bask in finding something in Wonwoo's face that tells him something more than his own lips. It's a silent, "Is something wrong?" that kicks Wonwoo guilty.

Wonwoo swallows hard. He wants to let go of Mingyu's hand but instead, he squeezes them tighter, runs his thumb over hard bumps of Mingyu's knuckles, a couple of aging scratches on thin skin, dodging the slice on his finger. "Is it okay if I sleep on the couch tonight?"

Mingyu's lips drop and his eyes harden at the question thrown at him, loosens his fingers for a second. "What-why?" The answer fixes itself in his throat, but Mingyu shakes his head, and Wonwoo thinks he's done something wrong. "Wait, no, forget I asked. You can take the bed, and Seoyeon and I can sleep in her room."

It's the last thing he wants to do and if anything, he would rather sleep on Seoyeon's floor. "The couch is fine; it's perfect, honestly."

"Your back might hurt in the morning," he whispers, pad of his thumb failing to erase the path of Wonwoo's heart up his throat.

"Please?"

Mingyu scans his face, maybe for something to get him to take back this one request. He wants to tell Mingyu why, to continue his promise of not holding anything back. But Mingyu nods once, excuses himself to grab extra pillows and blankets. When he starts setting up the couch, Mingyu's heavy shoulders not flinching against his, no other words bump together. When he thanks him, after Mingyu disappears into the room, he sinks down on the couch, sinks his face into his palms.

It gnaws at him for doing this to Mingyu. He doesn't hear the door open or close but when he turns to see if it's safe to let it all out, he catches Mingyu at the hallway, propping himself against the wall. "Did you want to talk about it?" is low. He starts his way back after checking into the room, checking to see if Seoyeon is asleep.

He makes room from the middle of the couch, comfort of Mingyu's thigh heating up his. He takes in a deep breath, listens to it falter with uncertainty of how Mingyu will take this. "I don't want to sleep on the bed," he admits slowly, eyes falling on the picture frames guarding Burj Khalifa and Shanghai Tower under the television. His eyes land first on the one of him squinting without his glasses and Seoyeon laughing. The table must have been used to line up pictures of Seoyeon, Mingyu, and _Jihye_ , and maybe he should have taken the floor as a bed, on the side that doesn't face the pictures. "It doesn't feel right that I can sleep on the bed Ji- _she_  used to sleep on. And it hurts a lot knowing Seoyeon didn't want to sleep with you there before." Wonwoo shakes his head, whispers the last thought, "I've been nervous to sleep there since the first night."

"The first night?" Mingyu echoes, fragments of a whisper back. Wonwoo nods and guilt stabs him again for doing this to Mingyu. "I'm so sorry, Wonwoo, I should have known.

He forgives him, calms him that it's not his fault at all. He can tell Mingyu anything, more than anyone else he's known, but why did it fail this time? "I should have said something right away."

"But still," numb into everything prior to that. "You can take the couch for the rest of your stay." He nods, but his chin buries into his chest. He wonders what it would mean if Seoyeon asks about not sleeping with her anymore. "Thank you for telling me, though," loses itself in Mingyu's fingers finding his again, Mingyu's lips finding Wonwoo's cheek before a "Goodnight, Wonwoo."

It loses itself in Wonwoo digging his palm deeper into Mingyu's, tugging him back once more before his mind brushes on the idea of getting up, dissipates in stealing this chance and lifting another onto Mingyu's cheek in return.

\----

He blinks the sleep from his eyes before he can hear the hum of Mingyu's morning melody, metal slides of a spoon into the sink, clanks of porcelain onto counters. He sits up, strains his neck to find no one there to fill in the sounds his ears prick foreign without by now. But he curls up on the couch, feeling of having done something wrong never leaving his chest.

He stares down at the picture frames, notices some more under the clear surface. He moves over to sit in front of the table and gapes beyond the ones in display. From under, photo albums stack up with labels-- _27.05.2025 - Kim Seoyeon's Birth_ , _04.09.2025 - Kim Seoyeon's 100 Days_ , _27.5.2026 - Kim Seoyeon's 1st Birthday_ , and a few others with invisible, blank, hidden the labels to.

It's a few minutes down on the clock when he hears the click and creak of the door swing open and the floors pressured shut, and he doesn't bother to pretend to sleep this time. He watches Mingyu head straight for the kitchen, under-eyes drawing deeper, but when their eyes do land, Mingyu offers a sleepy smile.

Mingyu disappears into the corner of the kitchen, behind the fridge. "Did you sleep better?"  
His throat shreds his voice up. "Is your back okay?"

He takes this moment to stand up, stretch, and fix all the cushions and sheets. He admits to feeling less anxious about sleeping now, but he still feels awful for doing it to Mingyu.

Once at the kitchen, Mingyu shakes his head, tells him he can sleep there for as long as he likes. "It doesn't hurt me, I promise."

He makes out the pinch of Mingyu's eye shut, same corner of the same side of his lip lifting up, also. His hair stands in a lethargic swoop over his head and waves him a good morning. It all breaks when Mingyu points above Wonwoo's head, laughs at the strands defying gravity above him.

"Your hair is messy, too," Wonwoo retaliates, following in with the belt of laughter.

The stew boils and Mingyu monitors the consistency by placing a hand on the counter, hovering over the pot as if it might explode any second. The world runs around Mingyu, but Mingyu's world includes just the stew, and the urge to lean in and kiss Mingyu boils more than breakfast.

And he grips onto this chance. He places a hand on top of Mingyu's at the granite, leans forward, and lifts a fleeting kiss onto his cheek. A second unwinds for Mingyu to process what happened, blank blinks staring ahead at the vents, before he turns his head to him, slower blinks meeting their eyes halfway.

And then it's the stove clicking down to a lower setting as Mingyu straightens up, palms lapping onto his cheeks, and he prays he won't trip as he steps backwards and the curved ledge of the counter digs into his hip, cools down a fraction of his spine. His heartbeat flits in guessing where Mingyu's lips will land, but he loves to watch where they end up. His stomach blooms something bubbly, spreading all over his chest, the light of everything sending his head lightheaded in the best way possible. Wonwoo's eyes trail down to Mingyu's lips trailing up on his face, above his own lips, nose, and he sighs at the soft pressure on his forehead, the next one brushing between relaxing lines at his eyebrows.

"I don't want you to smell my morning breath," snickers across his fringe.

When Mingyu backs up to the stove and brings the heat to a boil, he doesn't step any closer this time. He takes a glimpse around him, to remember what happened just now, what really is between them, if this is something his brain isn't making up. He wonders if these little kisses really did happen, if the hesitation to slip his hand into Mingyu's melts away with the squeeze of their thighs, shoulders, arms closer together when they sit down.

But he hears the click of the stove completely off and the question of if he's done cooking, if breakfast is ready, snaps him from any other thoughts.

Mingyu shakes his head, frowns. Wonwoo is afraid he did something wrong _again_. "Is everything too much? You haven't moved from that spot."

His "I still can't believe this is happening" sifts through Mingyu's eyebrows burrowing in concern and finds a quiet smile. He allows his mind to refrain from keeping himself quiet, of believing the only thing he had were his work, his family, and all the guys. "I thought it was enough for me until I stayed with you and Seoyeon. I don't know, Mingyu, I didn't even know I wanted anything close to this." His words fail him, circles around what else he can say without breaking his thoughts too much, until he keeps talking just to keep talking, to chide the wrong words away. But the image, the fact that he knows what it feels like to have Mingyu holding his face, kissing his forehead, punches anything articulate from forming in his mind. "I don't know, Mingyu, but things are different now, and I love it so, so much."

And this time, the stove is off, steam trailing into the hood above the stove. Mingyu's palms melt into the sides of his neck when he says he's relieved to hear that because, "I love it, too."

When Wonwoo's phone lights up with a message from Soonyoung, asking if he's free today, he reads it to Mingyu at the counter. With his chin on Wonwoo's shoulder this time, digging a delicate giggle from the unfamiliar tickle, Mingy offers to drop him off later. But before he can agree to anything, the messages storm up faster than he can read and decide already that Junhui will drive Soonyoung and Jihoon will take care of Wonwoo.

Not long after accepting the arrangement, Seoyeon waddles to him with a frantic rub at her eyes, yawn at her lips, and he lifts her up to the counter as Mingyu plucks something from the cabinets. He leans forward to her, hands propped at either side of her, and he lets her skew his vision to a blur with his glasses slipping off her nose instead of off his. He squints because he knows it will make Seoyeon laugh and when it does, he pokes her stomach for a good morning, to pay back for stealing his glasses.

But instead of a greeting, Seoyeon leans forward, drops a kiss on his nose, before asking Mingyu if he wants to wear his glasses. He thanks her for the good morning kiss and steps back to fix the bottom of her pants wiping the floor more than her socks.

His heart twists at the reminder that he won't have this when he goes back. In a few days, his mornings call out to him alone, his waking eyes won't be welcomed with the Burj Khalifa, Shanghai tower, or Mingyu tiptoeing around with a simmer at the pot threatening to wake him up. He'll have all his air in his lungs without Seoyeon there to cram them out. In a few days, he has to leave with the uncertainty of finding everything of now all over again.

  
In the afternoon, his fingers scrape on the nightstand once shower steam slithers into the vents. He squints harder for the wood, swearing himself that his memory isn't breaking down on him as he remembers leaving his glasses on the nightstand. When his eyes land on the glint in Seoyeon's hand at the hallway, he trails her feet, drumming down a roar in the hallway that hikes up her speed to a run. Her legs halt at the end of the hallway in front of the closet and when he get close enough, he lifts her off the floor with a playful demand of his eyesight back or else he'll rub his wet hair on her stomach.

A shriek of joy when he starts smothering her cheeks in kisses, she shakes her head, highs of the chase still beating down on the two of them. He perches her back on his hip and she unfolds his glasses, sets them at his nose for him, and returns his vision.

  
At the door, Mingyu informs him that Seoyeon will be hanging out with her friend today at the other side of the city and if he needs anything, he'll run to the store for it before coming back home. After Seoyeon pecks his lips goodbye and scurries to her room, Wonwoo's thoughts clutter as Mingyu takes his hand and a flash of a second peck winds onto his lips. It scrambles what he was looking for, thumps of his heart whirring his head light, and which shoes his hands are going for.

Mingyu laughs, low and pouring all his heart out into the air, and before Wonwoo can ask what's funny, he stuffs Mingyu's shoes back into the rack and finally reaches for his own. When he shoves his feet into the correct pair of shoes, he stands back up, robs this chance of revenge with a third peck for a "See you later."

  
In Jihoon's car, he smiles at the Minnie Mouse sticker on the dashboard, right above the handle to open it all. He contemplates on opening it and the possibility of finding even more in there, but he asks about this one sticker for now.

"Oh, I took Seoyeon to the dentist once and when I was getting gas, she went to the front seat and asked to put the ticker there," Jihoon supplies with a grin. Wonwoo smiles at that, is relieved for another helping hand for Mingyu and Seoyeon. He wonders how long the sticker has been staring at passengers or out the window, if Jihoon sat by Seoyeon while she had her teeth checked. Maybe Jihoon held her hand and, if he knew Mingyu's work schedule well enough, planned the following appointment.

His next words blacks out the image. "Are things okay with you and Mingyu, though?"

He admits that he loves everything right now, but he shrugs, voice lowering, "Even if the divorce still hurts him."

Jihoon nods, fingertips coaxing a beat from the radio and onto the steering wheel. "I think it will work out. Yeah, it will be hard because of the divorce, but Mingyu seems different since your first vacation here." The pause he offers opens up his doubts--is it a good kind of different? How much as Mingyu's life changed? It must not be that much compared to how much Wonwoo's own life changed. "Has Mingyu told you what happened?"

Scared of his answer, Wonwoo fogs the window with a "No, I don't." But Jihoon says he doesn't know, either, and "If you did know about it, I wouldn't ask about it any more." The radio crams the car with the comfort silence when he asks if things are okay again after the buffet. "Seungcheol looked really worried when he came back to the table."

Wonwoo admits they're on good terms, "Seungcheol called the next day and we talked about Yujin getting close to giving birth," and leaves it at that.

  
Namsan Park floods with more people than trees at this time of the day, and the only color he can make out other than white and occasional blue glow refracting from the sky is the brown bricks of the shoveled walkway. He bundles himself up between Junhui and Jihoon, can't help but watch Soonyoung point at every kid shuffling around in their three or four winter jackets. They talk together for the first time in a while, about Junhui and Minghao moving to an apartment closer to the hospital Junhui and Seokmin work at. It's a tad farther away from Minghao's martial arts studio, but cutting Junhui's commute time in half and adding another fifteen minutes to Minghao's made saving up not so bad.

"Oh, hey, that means you and Seokmin will probably have more shifts together again," Soonyoung points out with a beam at his face, brighter than the ones on the kids' lips running under the trees, sticking their tongue out for a snowflake that won't float down the right path.

"Yeah, you're right," Junhui gasps, clapping Soonyoung on his back, "it's been months since I last worked with him." Junhui leans in closer to him, whispers something he and Jihoon can't hear at their side of the sidewalk. Whatever Junhui told Soonyoung must be big because the smile Soonyoung scrunches into a straight line fails every time. Wonwoo demands to know, anything to preserve the smile on Soonyoung's face and in Wonwoo's memory.

"Seokmin and I are trying to adopt again," is gentle beneath the four of them, but the words has Wonwoo reaching over to hug Soonyoung, the smile on Jihoon's face impossible to wear off. Soonyoung draws out a fantasy of buying a small bed, letting the kid pick out whatever they want in the room, of helping them adjust the tie on their uniform every morning and yank it out after school, before Soonyoung or Seokmin even reach their home.

After a string of congratulations, a dream fades into Soonyoung's eyes, away from Wonwoo, Junhui, and Jihoon, away from everything else that isn't the girl jumping for her father's arms. "And maybe Seoyeon can have someone to play with now, if we adopt one closer to her age."

"Yeah, Seoyeon can have another friend," Jihoon mirrors, "a cousin."

"That reminds me." Soonyoung shifts all his attention to Wonwoo, points a blaming finger at his chest. "Mingyu wouldn't let us see you when you arrived."

It earns a slap at Soonyoung's shoulder and Jihoon clarifies that, "Mingyu wanted your family to see you when you arrived, since the last time you came, you saw us."

 _Did Mingyu really do that?_  waives at the blush on his cheeks, at his ears. It heats up the scarf at his neck, and he thinks there's a lot more Mingyu has done for him.

"You're so pink," Soonyoung teases, and Wonwoo pretends to reach out and shove him a slight.

A hand snakes its way to his shoulder and when he peers beside him, there's Junhui's hand on Soonyoung's shoulder, too. "Come on, there are kids here."

Wonwoo smirks, reminiscent of their playful banters starting many years ago. "Are you sure Soonyoung isn't one of them?"

"I'm sure Junhui is talking about you, Wonwoo," Soonyoung claps back but eventually, they end the walk with Soonyoung's arm at his waist and Wonwoo's arm around his shoulder.

  
When Jihoon drops him home, bids a goodnight at an hour far past Seoyeon's wake, Wonwoo slips into the bedroom to grab his pajamas. Seoyeon sprawls half her body on Mingyu's and as much as he would want to slip in beside her, he goes against it and sets up pillows and blankets for another night alone at the couch.

\----

Patter of footsteps drain the sleep at his eyes before the air squeezing out of his lungs do. He looks down to Seoyeon's arms blanketing over his stomach with a hushed greeting of a good morning, "Did you sleep here, Uncle Wonwoo?"

He opens his arms, waits for her to hop onto him before enveloping her in his arms, in the blanket. He thanks her once for a nice morning and again with a, "Good morning to you, too, Seoyeon."

She buries the side of her face more into his chest, brushes of her hair feathering his nose. Slow breaths recede into the air, but it comes back up, though, when Mingyu's voice encloses them all at once.

"What do you want for breakfast?" through his yawns, knead at his eyes, shaking the sleep from his hair more than from his face.

Wonwoo whispers the question back to Seoyeon and when he expects a thoughtful answer after her eyes dazing out, she only whispers the question back to him. It's giggling tumbles in the morning as he battles to see who will finally give in, who will answer the question, and he just wishes he can pack everything in Seoul, Changwon, Anyang in a box and take it with him to New York.

Undertones of Seoyeon's voice against his chest stabs his fear numb for having to answer, for even having an answer. "Daddy told me you're going soon. Is that true?"

Wonwoo pats her hair down, fears for the day he knows he can't bring every piece of home back to New York. "Yeah, it is," barely escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, Seoyeon." He dreads for a tear, some plead to stay, but when nothing comes, only the tightening of her arms around his chest, he glances at Mingyu at her reaction.

  
He speculates his decision on sleeping on the couch, instead of Seoyeon's room, because he can't rip his eyes off the picture frames. He's more scared of the pictures under the ones lined up in perfect display, of the photo albums with Seoyeon, Mingyu, and _Jihye_. He contemplates asking to sleep on Seoyeon's bed for the rest of his stay, but he's asked too much from Mingyu already. Opening his home up a second time should be enough already.

The living room shades itself in the dead of the city, of the day. He never bothered to turn the lights on in the room once he settled at the floor of the couch, reclining into cushions and harsh wood. It's probably better this way because at least his eyes can't distinguish the faces under the frames, if he's looking at a face at all.

The question of Seoyeon slipping up and calling him like her own father drowns his thoughts, and he thinks he will be okay with it. It will be a big change, that's one definite, and he knows a bigger pressure opens up, more than simply allowing her to call him her father. It means baring her into his life on a deeper level than anyone else he knows. It means filling in the spot Jihye left behind, the spot the guys step up to alleviate the windfall or whipping gusts of being a parent and truly the only parent, the same spot Mingyu bleeds sweat and tears to fill in these past few years since the divorce. He's not sure if Seoyeon is willing to accept that just yet.

It's a heavier pressure because he doesn't want life to throw Mingyu back another to repeat what happened years ago. And if he gives into his thoughts muddling him down, he wonders if he's here because he doesn't want it to happen again or it it's because he truly wants to be with them.

But his doubts throw him the fact that Mingyu has been the one truly connecting him and his friends, him and his family, him and everything that speaks home. How, in recent years, Mingyu shaped his days to less-lonesome nights coming to his apartment from work. And it's a kind of debt he has to pay back to Mingyu that means more than just being there for him. It's Mingyu who bridges the gap between him and home, his friends and family. He wouldn't have gotten a birthday gift that meant the world to him if it wasn't for Mingyu's efforts. He wouldn't have gotten a sense of being with his family again, with a family, with a child, and if everything about his doubts wavered, with someone to open up to.

Then there are the dead hopes of New York, but returning to his bed with a phone call brightens his nights more than the moon. He needs more hands to count how many times he's spent out with a coworker or a client in the past year than the other few years before that. He notes how he manages to step into a different restaurant at the street, corners of the bridal and suit departments, into other people's lives at work. And behind his desk, the pictures build up against his wall at a faster rate than ever before that he might have to pasting them up on every other wall besides the one behind his desk.

But out of anything he can think of, his mind saves itself from his doubts when he knows that Mingyu might not be there with him physically all the time, but Mingyu is there with him, has been there for him these past couple of years. He mentally slaps himself in the face, wonders how he can be so ungrateful for everything Mingyu is doing to him, for him, but instead of beating himself up for it, he wants to be more forward with his gratefulness of Mingyu sticking by him.

And sure, Mingyu's heart still lingers around the divorce, still carries on the pain like a dead weight at his shoulders every waking day, but he doesn't mind, he would never mind being there for him. There isn't much he can do without overwhelming himself or Mingyu, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

It all narrows down to Seoyeon, though, and how she will handle Wonwoo stepping into her life more than before. He wonders if she will accept it right away or if she will push him away as if he doesn't belong here.

He stands up, heads to the window, and his vision blurs his periphery to a dim, shades the city's night life until the tear falls. He presses the pads of his thumbs to his eyes and breathes. He _tries_  to breathe, wading off the choke at his throat and the dry scrape at his lungs, but nothing frees his raspy breaths except for the tears down his face.

Because, even if Seoyeon _did_  call him out at the airport, even if Mingyu claimed she developed a close relationship with him much faster than the rest of the guys, is Seoyeon ready for that? Would Seoyeon be fine with her father being with him? Would she be alright with letting Jihye fade out so quickly? Would she accept her father seeing someone else after her mother left without a word?

A knock startles all his questions suspending unanswered and when he skims over the apartment, Mingyu drops his fist from the wall at the hallway. "A lot on your mind?" after the wordless passes.

Wonwoo nods, croaks out a hollow, "Yeah, a lot."

Wonwoo loves the sense of family outside of his parents and brother, but he's afraid of what's to come if he and Mingyu do continue with what they have right now, if they push back the boundaries of what they can become. His worries drown him, then, and he admits he won't be ready for anything, he's terrified of not being enough for them, that he will mess up along the way and hurt both Mingyu and Seoyeon. Like Mingyu said, he doesn't even live in Korea anymore.

For now, his head falls onto Mingyu's shoulder, digs his face into his neck in hopes of hearing more of hums than actual words. Mingyu wraps an arm around his shoulder, a kiss to on his hair, and he wishes he can disappear, force time to stand still so he can take all the minutes he can to think this through.

"We don't have to decide anything right now," Mingyu assures him lowly. "We brought it up a few nights ago; we just need to think it over."

He sighs against his neck, confesses he wants to be with them, "but I can't leave New York." The single sentence punctures the dark bubble he once thought of New York. New York houses only his office, his work, himself. He mentions what it would mean to Seoyeon, of their circumstances never changing.

But he can't imagine going back to never talking to Seoyeon, to not knowing Seoyeon like he does now. At the same time, doing all of this behind Seoyeon's back stabs at him. He wants to be home, but there's still life at his office in the States. He loves helping people with wedding vows, even if the pressure swipes him clean of any other words for the rest of the days. He loves being there, preparing for a milestone in another person's life. He loves his work, he loves the people he met because of his work, but he hates being away from home, from the people he can call his home.

The reflection of constellations onto the city whirs to a tilt, each thought swirling his vision until he doesn't know what he should do. But Mingyu stops it all with a single question that has him wanting to make sure that Mingyu knows who he is.

"Do you want to see your parents again?"

Wonwoo wipes the drops barely hanging on, smiles at the thought of his parents and Bohyuk when he first arrived. "Of course, I do."

When does he not want to?

The world suffocates him in Mingyu's arms, but he would rather stay here than move up for a desperate gasp. He says they can come tomorrow, that they worked something out with Bohyuk's schedule. And he doesn't care how sudden everything is. Wonwoo's "Thank you" barely flees his lips because he does want to, he wants to see them more than anyone right now.

The sniffs, shaky inhales won't stop at the thought of Mingyu making things possible for him. His digits sink into his jacket, whispers one more, "Thank you, Mingyu," against his neck.

\----

Dry winds nip at his lips and the tip of his nose, slices every attempt at his tongue swiping across and reviving some moisture there. His mother pats a stick of lip balm onto his palm, warns him that if he doesn't try it on now, she'll hold down his face and put it on for him in front of everyone. He smirks, tucks the end of her scarf unfurling against the wind around her neck and under her chin, and pops the cap open.

At the park, when they step on more snow than cleared pathways, his mother seems to hold onto his father's arm not in a way with the comfort of company but with the comfort that she won't fall. Wonwoo slips his arm into hers and begs for her to sit down when the path builds up more rugged snow than stable ground. When they sit at the bench, he coils up at the pinches of his cheek as his father, Bohyuk, Mingyu, and Seoyeon race around the snowed grass.

Bohyuk pats a ball and throws it across the short distance, splatting straight at Mingyu's lopsided snow fort shielding Seoyeon. The next snow ball hits Seoyeon square in the face, sends her feet tripping back and into the snow. The world spins and his head lifts with no weight when he stands up too quickly to run over to Seoyeon, but the world blurring to a whim shudders back upright and futile when she stands back up with snow at her hair, clinging onto her eyelashes, spitting the bits at her lips.

Mingyu hurries behind her, brushing off the snow glued to the strands poking out of her beanie. Bohyuk hurries even faster, though, and kneels down, hugs her tight. Wonwoo doesn't have to hear apologies from his brother to know why Seoyeon assures him with a tiny, "I'm okay, Uncle Bohyuk."

Wonwoo seizes pieces of the conversation close to his ears, far from the voices, from Bohyuk's endless apologies to Mingyu's "Don't worry" and "It's not the first time this happened."

His mother tugs him to sit back down and he only does when Seoyeon starts running around again, when his father walks over with a blue plastic bag. He kneels down to her, pulls out bunggeoppang for her, for Bohyuk, for Mingyu. She hops at her steps before she even gets her hands on one, accepts the fish with both of her hands, and Wonwoo catches another string of thank you's from her and to his father.

Bohyuk swings Seoyeon's hand in his as they walk down the perimeter of the white grass, swooping down once in a while to steady her when she steps on snow and the beans teeter from the corner of her lips. His father and Mingyu trail some distance behind them, Mingyu's arm across his father's waist and his father's arm on Mingyu's shoulder, partly to keep him close and partly to keep him steady.

"It looks like you're really glad to be with Mingyu," his mother speaks up after a breeze, stirs up the winter silence. "And your cheeks are fuller since the last time."

Wonwoo can't hide the blush surfacing at his cheeks behind his own scarf. "He does," he agrees and it sounds tiny, especially coming for his mother, "even when he's not around."

"How are you and Mingyu?" she asks, patting her mittened hand on his knee, triggering the two of them to sway at their seats like long Changwon winters ago at the bench in front of their old apartment.

"I...I love it right now," wispy, melts into the ghost of their breaths. "I feel safe and understood with him." He scratches his head, nibbles on a red bean tipping from the gold. "But I think he understands my struggles with writing because Jihye writes for a living, too."

A swat at his arm jumps the golden fish from his hand, red beans smothering onto the snow like drops of blood. He steadies the bread at his palms before turning to his mother to ask what he said this time. "Don't say that. Mingyu is smart, he learned it."

But Wonwoo shrugs, knows she's probably right.

  
Dinner means Mingyu and Bohyuk swarm the kitchen as Wonwoo recounts everything his parents ask him, balancing Seoyeon on his lap when she decides that out of all the seats in the living room, his lap is the best spot to sit on. His father coaxes her on his lap with a pat of his palm there, and his mother sulks at Seoyeon's hand abandoning hers. It also means having his parents and Seoyeon sit at the dinner table as he, Bohyuk, and Mingyu knock shoulders at the counter.

When they tease Bohyuk about Yerin, about his lips stammering around the idea of bringing her back here to Seoul one day, Bohyuk directs his hands to his bowl and his back towards them, heading straight for the dinner table. But Wonwoo grabs onto his shirt, drags him back behind the granite, and swears that they're really happy for him and Yerin and would love to see her again soon.

  
His parents snore at the bedroom and even after Mingyu slips Wonwoo's hand into his, persuades him and Bohyuk to sleep in Seoyeon's room instead of the couch, Wonwoo grabs extra blankets and pillows, hands one set to Bohyuk to take the couch and he'll take the floor. From the living room, with the second room door cracked opened, Bohyuk snickers around Mingyu's, "Shh, Seoyeon, everyone's sleeping."

"She's so adorable," Bohyuk coos, hugging the pillow to his chest to suffice the vacancy of Seoyeon in his view.

Her "Daddy, can I go pee?" scoots the two of them over to the couch, peeking past the edge, and when they watch the door open wider, when Seoyeon heads for the opposite direction of the bathroom and goes straight for the living room, she bounces at her steps even more when she makes out their general location in the dark, when they realize she's coming to them. Wonwoo squeezes at one arm rest, Bohyuk patting the empty spot between them for Seoyeon to slip into. She hops onto the couch and Bohyuk drapes a blanket over their legs, grinning at her toes poking under the cloth and her "I keep asking Daddy for a story, but he tells me to sleep."

"How about I finish the last one we did?" Wonwoo suggests, layering another blanket over their shoulders. "Do you remember where we left off?"

She scowls, doubts around her recollection twisting the blankets in front of her, "I only remember the lady taking the dancer jar."

"I'll start from there, then" Wonwoo says. "The next day, the shopkeeper's mother gets sick. He has to go across the country to take care of her, so he asks his daughter if she can take over the shop. It's not much work; sometimes, she stands there, looks through her phone-"

Bohyuk seems to catch along quickly and darts in without missing a pause, "And sometimes, she finishes all her homework during her shift."

"When it's time to close, she thought she just counts the money, dusts the place, and locks the shop. That's what she was used to seeing her dad do. But there's more to closing than that."

"There's way more," Bohyuk butts in. Wonwoo narrows his gaze at his little brother and asks him to finish the story. He shakes his head, hands up in defeat, "No, I can't tell stories to save my life."

Wonwoo hunches over closer to Seoyeon only to stir the whine from his brother about wanting to hear the story with her. "I haven't told you what happens after the shop closes. When the shop closes, the shopkeeper would bring all the jars from the front of the shop. He brings the jars with labels of engineer, doctor, nurse, computer scientist, professor, accountant, lawyer and locks them up. But with the jars in the attic, he goes to them one by one and whispers good wishes to the name on the jar and the job, the dream.

"First, he wishes a good day of writing to Saetbyeol."

"He also hopes Sunwoo doesn't spill his paint tomorrow.

"But one day, she gets really bored and goes up to the attic before she has to close the shop. She looks through the jars to find some interesting dreams people gave up for something else. She wants to see some interesting ones people gave up and let someone else follow their dream.

"In the very back, tucked into a small box, there's a jar blacker than night."

"That's really dark," Seoyeon gapes, bringing the blanket up to her chin.

"And it has specks of silver and gold. She spins the jar in her hand, the only jar of its kind. And it carries the name of Youngho, her father, bearer of broken hopes, nurse of revived dreams."

"What's a bearer?"

"It's like someone who carries something to bring to somewhere else," Bohyuk supplies, "like messages or papers. Anyone can be a bearer." He sneers at Wonwoo, but he sticks his tongue out to his younger brother. "I know words, too."

"Whoa," Seoyeon stares out in front of her, "her dad must be sad."

"Seoyeon, I thought you were peeing," Mingyu says above them. Half of his shirt digs into the waistband of his sweatpants and the sight has Wonwoo grinning. When they all turn to him, he apologizes for interrupting the story.

But Seoyeon's "It's okay, Daddy" sends the three of them choking on their silenced laughter, reddening necks so his parents won't wake up.

"Come on, Seoyeon, let's go to sleep."

"Can Uncle Wonwoo and Uncle Bohyuk sleep with us?" she asks, kick of her leg kicking him and his brother up on the couch with her.

  
Wonwoo promises that the floor isn't so bad, especially when Seoyeon's bed spans half the size of the bed they would sleep on. Bohyuk's knee digs up at his hip, snores resounding from his pillow and onto Wonwoo's. He's more surprised by the cold pressure at his temples and when he splits an eye open, the world blurs but doesn't blur enough to disfigure Mingyu's hand and his glasses plucking off.

He smiles a thanks, brings his hand up in search of Mingyu's.

\----

The weather marks the city in a white drizzle, and Seoyeon wants nothing more than to run outside the parking garage and snare one snowflake in her mouth. Mingyu tells her that she can go outside and try to resist the freeze, she only clings onto his leg and begs for him to catch a snowflake with her.

His family parts without tears this time, resorting to squeezing each other in an embrace before running off into the heated car, and Wonwoo is more than thankful for that. Bohyuk is the one to kneel down and ask for a kiss from Seoyeon, but it doesn't fight off the blush at his ears. And when the three of them push the button back up to Mingyu's floor, Wonwoo can't help but hug Mingyu the moment Seoyeon heads to her room, thank him for letting him see his family again, for knowing without him saying anything about it.

  
Seoyeon complains about the cold at her skin and when Mingyu suggests to shower with the steam sticking to her skin, Wonwoo sits at the floor of the room to grab his case and start folding his clothes straight from the dryer. Sitting right beside each other won't stop him from glancing at Mingyu and when he does catch his eyes, when Mingyu doesn't look away, he asks if there's something on his face.

He shakes his head, fringe falling back over his forehead. "Two weeks goes by too fast."

Wonwoo nods, acknowledges that it really does. "Maybe next time, it will be a month or two."

When he notices the heat of Mingyu's skin over their long sleeves, he says he'd love that. But it's a placid silence, subsided with the desire to stay and the regret of not granting that desire the next morning. It breaks when Mingyu stumbles out a nerve-wracking, "C-can I kiss you?"

His heart wires itself, thumps against his chest, and his brain shocks light at the thought of Mingyu's lips against his again. But he nods his head and Mingyu leans in, brush of his fingertips on his cheeks startling a flare down his neck, spine, fingers. It's one hand on his cheek, sharing warmth, gentle strokes on his skin, before his entire face is caught and Mingyu kisses him slow.

He's not sure what to do, where to hold onto, but he chases for the same rhythm Mingyu's lips allow against his. Hands search for something to grasp onto after his eyes shut, after he sighs at the caress of his face--first the floor, Mingyu's shirt, before his palms rest on his shoulders and slips closer to his neck.

When they pull back, Wonwoo's head spins, his heart races against the second hand, but he likes it. He loves it. Mingyu's breath fan over his lips and at the metal ring of shower curtains, their eyes skate for the door before turning back to each other. It's a soft kiss Mingyu steals and he goes back to folding Seoyeon's pajamas, as if nothing happened and the drag of his lungs to work again isn't there.

  
"Thank you for everything," is the only thing that treads between them after Mingyu urges him that sleeping on the couch tonight, his last night, is no problem at all, after Wonwoo confides that he wants to sleep with him and Seoyeon this once because he's not sure when their next time will be.

"I hope you enjoyed," Mingyu mumbles, turning over and tugging the blanket past Seoyeon's shoulders.

It's more than enjoying his time back home. He's even more scared of going back because he's going to miss everyone and home even more. When Seoyeon starts to shift between them, pressing her face onto Wonwoo's shoulder, they glance at each other, Wonwoo smiles at her parted lips, regards that "She looks so much like you, even when she's sleeping."

\----

They wake up long before Seoyeon's conscience can consider turning to the other side of the bed or hitching up the blanket past the crown of her head to block the lamplights. There's something at Mingyu's eyes the entire morning as he passes by him with the search of belongings he might leave behind on accident, of ones he's okay with forgetting here until next time, of another shirt for Seoyeon to wear like a dress. Even as they brush their teeth together, he doesn't mention anything. The morning stings dull, mute, but it stings for the dull and mute of everything after today.

White foam bathes Wonwoo's lips and when he's close on reaching up and rinsing it out, Mingyu's eyes narrow below the sink and hooks his pinky into his before taking his entire hand. It's a small gesture, one that makes them forget, for a mere second, that Wonwoo is leaving in a few hours, that they won't be able to do this again or anything from a couple of weeks ago in a few hours, that same night, the next morning, and many mornings after that. It makes them forget about the possibility of Wonwoo crying at the airport when Seoyeon does, of what Mingyu might have to endure when they go back home.

When they do rinse out their mouths, when Mingyu tells him he can take the toothbrush back to the States and use it there, they don't leave the bathroom yet, despite having nothing else they need to do in there. They don't leave because Mingyu's voice barely scrapes by as a voice from morning air and lack of words, ignites after clearing his throat, to ask if he can kiss him again.

His "Before Seoyeon wakes up" hides the "Before you have to go."

His eyes skitter down to Mingyu's lips, the air singeing icy and stark against the sudden burn at his neck, cheeks, ears, everywhere. He expects something quick and heart-fluttering all the same before Seoyeon wakes up because she might wake up anytime soon and he still has half his bag left to pack. But he watches Mingyu's hand reach up until his palms are warm on his cheek, but not as warm as Mingyu's lips on his.

Mingyu presses him backward, presses him against the wall until his spine flattens on the cool surface. When the world shuts down behind his eyes and his hands ache for something of Mingyu to hold onto, he sighs right into the kiss and his lips follow Mingyu's smile growing against his own.

Their lips part with Mingyu's forehead against his, refusing to open his eyes to everything he won't see after today, after a long while. It's their lungs catching up to the oxygen, Wonwoo's fingers wanting to print creases into Mingyu's skin because he's not ready to leave.

"I don't want to go," Wonwoo whispers frail against his lips, "not yet."

"Can you stay then?" is a miserable joke for both of them, perhaps more than the two of them.

"I wish," kills it, traps itself in the four walls of the bathroom and refuses to escape long after Wonwoo tries to peck the frown off Mingyu's face.

  
The usual time for Seoyeon to wake up comes too close but before she does, Mingyu tugs his hand back into the room. His teeth grits when the nightstand drawer creaks, but he frees his jaws once he fishes out and hands him a folded piece of white construction paper.

It looks familiar; he isn't sure why. But he pins down the ovals and circles by single lines, of flowers on white. He opens the card from months ago, to Seoyeon's shaky _You are not my dad but I think you are like Daddy because you love me a lot and make me and Daddy smile. I love you Uncle Wonwoooo. I wish you are here so you can tell me more stories._

A bitter chuckle dwindles at the extra vowels in his name because Mingyu never said anything about Seoyeon spelling his name differently than the one on his birth certificate, of the cute added letters into his name.

"I didn't want to forget it."

Wonwoo runs his finger over her words, wants to guard them forever and guard them true.

  
Not one tear drops when she does wake up, though. Not when Wonwoo zips up his jacket and she matches the last of his socks into his bag. Not when Wonwoo asks if she can help him search around the apartment for things he might end up forgetting. Not when Seoyeon tugs on Mingyu's jacket at the door, pouting around a, "Is Uncle Wonwoo really going?"

  
At the airport, no words risk to pass between them. Wonwoo guides Seoyeon into the cart with the bland excuse to protect his bags from toppling over. They offer to buy her overpriced cookies at the cafe in the front, and Mingyu doesn't flinch when Wonwoo opens his wallet. When she shares a couple of bites, they don't point out the sweetness charring their tongues, the words of _stay_  and _don't go_  carving deeper into their throats as each second marches closer to Wonwoo's departure.

Two hours before his flight, before he should start going, Wonwoo steers them towards a vacant part of the airport, closer to the doors and hidden behind tall, potted plants. Something kicks at Wonwoo--the fact that it will be a long while before he can see them again, ambiguity of when exactly their next time will be, if there will even be a next time--and doesn't stop him from holding Mingyu's face and bringing his lips up to his. He lowers his hand to his jacket to pull him closer, too close that the world can't pull them apart.

When their lips break apart, Mingyu's eyes are frantic over his and for a moment, lips ghost the words but his throat locks them up inside. Wonwoo berates himself, at his carelessness, because he _did_  do something wrong.

Mingyu takes his hand again, but it's Seoyeon's "Why did you kiss him, Daddy?" that rips them apart, destroys the entire airport into a cave of Seoyeon's cries, trembling lips, and tears dripping onto Mingyu's shoulder when he lifts her up and lifts her away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and for being so patient!! especially this far into the fic. wow i passed 100k words mark. i didn't think this fic would be this long  
> this is random but i skimmed through previous chapters and i realize i make so many mistakes sdlfjsldkf i hope you can all forgive me somehow and thank you for still reading past those mistakes. this is why you have betas  
> a little thing too!! now that the powder story is done, it's safe to say that the story was inspired by the song ["Dream Attic" by Monogram](https://open.spotify.com/track/1FQW5ctU2wWoqbSdE6yQNH). there are no actual translations of the song (unless you count google translate lmao), so i went with the vibes it gave me and it gave me the powder story :D  
> also!! thank you for the wishes on my exams! i love you all and i hope you're all warm this winter. i finished my exams today, so that's why there's an update hehe. if you finished exams, i hope you treat yourself to some nice rest and if you still have exams, good luck you got this!! i believe in you!  
> also, i am so sorry. it's not the end.  
> i'm over here at [ tumblr](http://seokmints-thighs.tumblr.com/), [twitter,](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity) if you like to scream at/with me


	16. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** this chapter is heavy on the divorce. there's some insomnia and sleeping pills, a speck of homophobia if you squint. also, i read through and edited this chapter once but i was too excited to care and posted it anyway  
>  i also added new songs onto the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vkuru29nbugjeme1ixf26c5zv/playlist/5ml8vMQhfAtH1aEA6UrjqV?si=4h_cyr2jT12MtrUXjGGN1w) if you like to listen to those songs in this chapter c:

New York City drowns him in a steel slab of rain but as long as it's not snow, he thinks he will be okay. Because winters now remind him of the desaturated Changwon petals he could have spent counting at the bench with his mother, white buzz of Seoul under cloud breaths and teeth chatters, seeking out Mingyu in the park under Anyang snowflakes and wet streaks at his cheeks, how New York City hollows out his heart without anyone to pour his heart out to.

Rain taps on his shoulder more than fogged windows of the taxi when the driver doesn't offer a conversation starter after one glance at him, doesn't bother with asking how he is, and drills straight for the address, short-cuts or the longer way home. The absence of any other words outside the cycle of bland radio conversations, overplayed melodies are things he never thought would be so comforting at the backseat, but he weighs it's much better than a spoken "What's with the tears?" that the driver seems to reflect with a frown at his eyes at the rear-view mirror. He's even more thankful that the driver doesn't ask him anything after his address; he's not sure if he can bring any other words alive besides the stifled sob locked in his throat since he stepped into Incheon and a mantra that he's the reason for never saying goodbye or a reason for everything to Seoyeon.

When the driver parks at his apartment block and clicks the car unlock, opens the door to help Wonwoo out with his bags, he waves him off with a "Thank you," he can do it, and a few more bills curling into the driver's palm through the passenger's window. He tortures himself with avoiding the elevator to his apartment, wheels of his luggage colliding with his ankle up the stairs at the other side of the building, at the opposite end of his floor.

 

 

His throat scalds down a cup of coffee because sleeping twelve hours in the sixteen-hour flight doesn't cut it for his body. Sleeping for twelve hours in the flight drains all the energy from his mind when he unzips his bag and Mingyu's laundry softener clings onto his clothes, a whiff of Mingyu's cologne lingers at his scarf, and a tube of Seoyeon's lotion manages to sneak its way into his bag.

Has it really been a day since he could share Mingyu's warmth, snicker with Seoyeon at the couch, and grab his shirt for mercy because the dinner table serves amusing stories of the past and mutual wishes to stay longer? Has it really been a day since he ruined everything?

His eyes skirt around for his laundry basket, discovers it at the end of his bed, and he ponders washing his clothes  _again_  just to smoke up the scent of Mingyu's apartment. He decides to dump his clothes into the basket, ready to dig out every article of clothing and save it for a full-day of washing and folding tomorrow. He plunges his hands to the bottom of his bag, but he snaps them back for the slice into his nail bed, a deep wobble eliciting a hiss under his scowl. He pulls out a glossy surface at his fingers, and his heart sinks to the floor before it climbs its way back up to his throat with a choke.

Perhaps Seoyeon regrets making the poster, the parents' day card for him.

He tucks Seoyeon's welcome back poster under his bed and calls it a night. He cancels the alarm on his phone for the morning with the excuse of jet lag obscuring any other way out of going about his day, as if a big part of the world he never knew he wanted didn't just dissipate from his fingertips before his eyes.

\----

His phone wakes him up, anyway, but it's the gray sun blinding him instead of the dimmed pixel screens. Rain hits like hail at his window and he's starting to believe the clouds' purpose is to stalk him since he arrived.

 _09:03_  
**_Mariano_  **  
_How are you Wonwoo??_  
_If you like extra time, you can always tell me_

 _09:50_  
**_Wonwoo_  **  
_I'm okay, just jet-lagged_  
_I think I'll need that extra time_  
_Thank you_

 _09:55_  
**_Mariano_  **  
_Take your time feeling better_  
_I think your clients will understand_

At that, Wonwoo's spine scolds him for the sudden movement and his toes fumble down the stairs. He wants to email all his clients he scheduled appointments for this week that he might need to reschedule. His fingers jab in the most sincere thing he can spit out with half the conscience, half his heart, half the sincerity but before the cursor hovers over the send button, his face freefalls into his hands.

_Why do I always let people down?_

He contemplates shoving himself into his office, after remembering his first appointment tomorrow, but he blames himself for believing he can get back to the loop of life so soon after returning. He  _can_ go to his office, but the right words from his brain won't be the best, his heart won't be entirely in his work. Offering mediocre vows for the sake of offering vows is not something he forbids himself from ever doing for someone who spent their money, time, and effort to be in his office.

He sighs, clicks send, and throws himself back into bed, under the sheets where the gray sun, Mingyu's name on his phone screen won't breach him.

 

 

Later that day, a reply from every person he emailed to sits in his inbox. His email drowns in words of  _It's no problem at all_ ,  _All is good, I understand_ ,  _I hope you get better soon_ , but there is one email of complaint, berates him with the chances of putting off the wedding, reprinting invitations and resending them, adding onto the stress of what the couple already have to deal with.

But above all, a smile peeks through in the midst of his inbox.

_Hi Wonwoo!_

_It's Linh again. I'm not asking for wedding vows again (Peter and I are always amazed by the vows you wrote and they remind us to push through anything together). I dropped by the shop today to say hi, since I saw the announcement before that you would be in there by now, but your boss (Marina? Morino?) told me you need a bit of time after the flight back home._

_I hope it is jet lag or flight sickness. Just some sleep, rest, and meals would cure that. If not, if it's missing home or missing someone from home, I hope that you do take your time recovering. It takes a lot of courage to leave home, but it takes a lot more courage to leave the people who make you feel at home._

_Anyway, I'm still doing well with Peter. I still go to therapy and Peter still comes home and hugs me and tells me that he is grateful to have me around, and I feel the same towards him. How are Mingyu and Seoyeon doing? I have a feeling you got to see them during your vacation._

_I do hope you feel better, both in the mind and body._

_Much love,_  
_Linh_

 

 

Linh's email should pave a smoother road for his heart when he goes to sleep, but he flips over in his bed, throws his pillow to the foot of the mattress and sleeps the other way around. He wonders if the person with the complaint will ever forgive him, if Seoyeon will ever forgive him.

If he didn't kiss Mingyu at the airport, if he didn't kiss Mingyu in front of Seoyeon, would everything be different? Would he be talking to them right now, recounting his flight back home or assuring Seoyeon that they will see each other again? Would Seoyeon tell him that she misses him and Wonwoo wouldn't hesitate to say it back?

Wonwoo can paint a new story in front of them for Seoyeon or listen to Mingyu explain the project he'll be starting soon. Maybe they would sit in the content of each other's silences as they work or slide out the cutting board and knives, as they help Seoyeon prepare to go back to school or Wonwoo step into his office. Maybe Wonwoo would bring up to Mingyu what they are. Maybe he wouldn't feel so bad thinking about dropping future plans of Mingyu and Seoyeon's birthday gifts.

He digs himself a deeper hole into the mattress. They would talk. They would  _still_  talk, if only he didn't destroy it with his careless heart.

\----

Wonwoo pretends to ignore Mingyu's name flashing on his phone, but the desire to apologize for everything shoves the idea into the void. He reads Mingyu's name over and over again, as if waiting for his phone to stop telling him to pick it up, and when the ringtone cuts off, he calls again.

Mingyu greets him with a drag of his hand over his eye bags, pink at his eyes and when he talks, his quiet voice crashes from the speakers and into his ears. He wonders if it's because it's the first voice he hears from either side of the ocean, if it's because it's the first verbal sound he's heard in a while, other than his own praying that Seoyeon will let him talk to her once before they might have to end everything out. "I wish I told her."

Wonwoo shakes his head because it's nothing for Mingyu to be sorry for, it's not his fault. "I'm so sorry, Mingyu. It was too much, and I didn't even ask if you said anything to her about us."

"I talked to her at home, though."

"How was the car ride?"

Mingyu slaps a hand over his face again, saves a second to delve his fingertip at the corner of his eye, and stares off once his fingers free from his cheeks. Wonwoo prepares himself for what Mingyu might have to say; the worst of anything fate has to propose with an evil grin over a burning table first comes into mind. Seoyeon claiming she hates Wonwoo now, that she never wants her dad to talk to him anymore, how Wonwoo left, just like her mother,  _again_.

A pencil flickers into the screen, hints of the eraser end spinning at the edge of his laptop. Wonwoo spots Mingyu's fingernails still unfiled, not the smoothest curves, and if anything, they seem bitten lower and more uneven, teeth exposing nail beds with the stress of what this might mean to Seoyeon and the uncertainty of both of them. "She was crying in the car. Even when we got home, she was still crying."

It breaks another apology out of Wonwoo, more so that he doesn't catch Mingyu's "It's not your fault" until he repeats it a third time.

"Yes, it is," is the most stable thing he said since he left home, though the three words maul his throat into wishing he never had to say them. He spills his mind into the next part because it's the first time he can talk to Mingyu and so much builds up when he's alone. "If I didn't do that, if I didn't kiss you, she wouldn't be crying." His throat closes up, everything blacks out into a blur, and his head sinks for the table, for the bents of his elbows.

His heart wretches for a way to leave and have Seoyeon forget about everything in the airport. Reality won't douse her with a dose of amnesia and maybe it really would be better to just leave home, leave Mingyu and Seoyeon, and return to the lives they woke up every day and fell asleep until the next before Wonwoo ever went back home. "I wouldn't have hurt her. She wouldn't have been hurt." The second sentence fragments off into a sob, dry inhale pinching at his chest, his ribs, because disappointing everyone he knows, wilting all his motivation to do anything about it by weeding out the cries from his chest and out his lips, are all he's been doing. His eyes burn and his vision narrows from rubbing at them so hard, rubbing the tears away, and he can't help but succumb to the pathetic notion of doing it every instance his mind won't let him escape the memory.

Mingyu calls out his name, serenades into his ears like a dream because everything else doesn't register as the truth of the world, before it's stern and it  _scares_  him to hear it with reality collapsing from circumstances.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," is the only solution that conjures up any sense, any logic in Wonwoo. The words thrown into the air from a dark depth of his heart carries on another apology. "I'm so sorry for hurting Seoyeon. I want to talk to her, I want to apologize to her, too, and I just want to tell her that I didn't mean to hurt her. I shouldn't have rushed like that; I didn't realize you didn't talk to her about it yet and," Wonwoo inhales back the sob, "she must have been so shocked, Mingyu. Is it because we're two guys or is it because...because of  _her_?"

"Yeah," monotone from Mingyu, vacant eyes staring below, "it's because of Jihye."

It hits him even harder when he thinks Seoyeon is still hurt from her mother leaving, the night of Mingyu talking about the nights after the divorce, how Jihye asked to see Seoyeon but Mingyu refused. He's not sure what to do about everything. If a word did pass between both of them, the speakers don't capture it over the thumps of his heart at his ears, at his temples, the crush of his eyes shut to wane out the sight of Mingyu bringing his shirt up to smear the tears off his eyes.

"I don't want to force it on Seoyeon so soon," rumbles nasal from Mingyu, "but I don't want to lose you, Wonwoo."

"I don't to lose you or Seoyeon," Wonwoo's echo barely scrapes by. "I don't want to lose any of this."

Mingyu breaths infuse into the silence until words follow through. "I was going to tell her after you returned to the States so there's more time to think about it and so it wouldn't be so painful when you leave." But they resolve it all after Mingyu promises to tell him everything right away, and Wonwoo returns the promise back to him.

"I'm scared she hates me now," Wonwoo spits without a thought.

Mingyu picks up the pencil another time and the glare of the eraser end is all they can look at. "I'm sure she doesn't hate you. I have to pick her up from school, though, so if you want, or if you think you'll be okay with it, you can talk to her."

It's the first and last thing he wants to do right now, but he thinks it will be for the better.

 

 

Once Mingyu bids him a "Talk to you later, then," the city expires to an occasional blare of car horns, blaze of dimmed traffic lighting up street veins between skyscrapers, and a prayer of the rain away setting onto the tip of his tongue. He stares out into the city, as if the answer will light up on the rooftops or someone spinning in the middle of Times Squares will scream what his heart is hoping for.

He wonders what he will say, if he can muster up the audacity to talk to Seoyeon. If they bring up the airport, what will he say after?

_Do you hate me, Seoyeon?_

_It's okay if talking to me is hard._

_Seoyeon, I am so sorry for hurting you._

But the biggest question is if she wants to whisper a mere syllable to him. What if she doesn't want to talk to him? What if she never wants to talk about his existence? Just forget he exists just to pretend everything in the airport never felt as if everything from the past two years fell apart?

 

 

His body clock still flows with Mingyu's side of the Pacific so when two in the morning brandishes the clock, Wonwoo doesn't flinch away from accepting the call. A corner-peep with a crown of dark hair, sharp eyes, short fingers creeping at the desk clears up and he worries that, if the truth of the world bets against him, Seoyeon is afraid of him after the airport. When she glances directly at the camera, almost looking directly at each other but not quite, her name is stuck in his throat. He clears out his throat, voice wavering when he does call out for her, and his voice discovers solace when she leaps from the corner and calls his name out to him.

Mingyu sets her on his lap after she steps backwards, tiptoes into his space, and asks if she can sit there, on his lap. He kisses the top of her head, asks if she misses Uncle Wonwoo, and Wonwoo would bite the cold at his lips, brave through the ocean to hear her say she actually  _does_  miss him without the boundaries of land, water, pixels.

But Mingyu asks if she remembers what he asked her earlier.

Her voice shrinks as her eyes cast down below the camera, screen, keyboard, down to below the desk. For a second, the world closes out to stop himself from thinking of what she might say. "The airport?"

"Yeah, the airport," he confirms, suffocates the energy from seconds ago. "Are you okay with talking about the airport?"

Seoyeon's lips part a slight but when Wonwoo hears a fraction of her voice, of it diminishing into wiping her eyes and her bottom lip trembling, he casts his eyes down and prays the camera doesn't capture any glints of light from the tears.

"Is it easier if you only hear Uncle Wonwoo?"

She tilts her head down once, pouts her bottom lip out until her upper lip disappears completely and refuses to look anywhere close to the camera. Before Mingyu can ask him if it's okay to turn the camera off, Wonwoo cancels off his camera and considers muting his microphone.

A sniff reverberates from the speakers, and he can't tell if it's from Seoyeon or Mingyu, but she stutters through a weak, "Uncle Wonwoo kissed you and-and I cried and," a hiccup severs her thoughts, "we went home. Then you asked me what I was feeling," a shaky inhale bathes his own thoughts, and Wonwoo would never want to hear her voice scraping at the edges and volume breaking his earphones at how much it hurts for her to offer the smallest voice to him, "but I don't know. Because you only kissed Mommy, but you said you and Mommy are different."

A creak every other second punctures the silence, the picture of Mingyu rocking her back and forth on his lap in his mind. He hears a second unsteady inhale, "Mommy and I did change a lot and we didn't want the bad change to get to you, Seoyeon. Remember when I said that a long time ago? But your Uncle Wonwoo helped me with that; he helped me a lot so the bad change doesn't get to you or me."

At this second, Wonwoo's hands trouble with wrong clicks of the mouse to mute the call, to silence his end of the call from the sob into his hands. The sound from his lips wrings his guts, twists his stomach more than his throat.

He never meant to push Jihye out of Seoyeon's life all at once, without giving her proper answers to questions she's been clinging onto for so long, and he wants to be there, with her, explaining as much as his heart can take. But the reminder that he left already, left too soon, coaxes a second string of sobs that lock in his throat.

He's not sure if he can look at Seoyeon anymore, can keep this call going until it reaches to a point where words won't suffice neither he and Mingyu, where they drive themselves into a wall and there's nowhere else to go. Part of him wishes he went along with Jihoon the first time he went home; he should have taken the first offer and conducts himself quiet around Jihoon's presence and in his home. This way, he wouldn't have known Seoyeon so well, wouldn't have learned all her everyday quirks, played along with her jokes against Mingyu, called out to her and worry about her like a habit. This way, he wouldn't have hurt her like this.

But now that he knows Seoyeon like this, knows so much of her and spent so much time with her, for her, how can he picture turning his back to this life and going back to his days before his first visit? What did he even do between work and sleep, when he got home and vows didn't heap up his table like they're his last meal? What was he doing before he started talking to his parents, his brother, his friends, Mingyu and Seoyeon?

Mingyu slipped in about Wonwoo helping a bad change not get to him or Seoyeon, but did he really? Are their lives better with Wonwoo around, with Wonwoo thousands of miles from them but always a phone call away? Is  _this_  better than their lives before Wonwoo stepped into their apartment, before Wonwoo traced his steps back home?

He's grateful for all Mingyu did for him, how Wonwoo changed  _because_  of him, but everything he does for Mingyu and Seoyeon is more of a burden unparalleled to what Mingyu and Seoyeon did for him.

Why is it when his choices narrow down to chasing his own choices, it has to come with something that questions the run worthwhile? Why does this drown him with the same circumstances of years ago, of deciding whether or not the move to the States will be worth it?

Mingyu breaks off his thoughts, "Did seeing me do that to Uncle Wonwoo scare you?"

The lapse of a reply stuns him. "It did," she whispers after a while.

"I won't do it if it scares you, then."

Seoyeon sniffs and her question grips onto Wonwoo's heart into a plead for mercy. "Is it bad that I still like Uncle Wonwoo?"

"No, it's not. Not at all," Mingyu assures her. "Why? Does he still make you happy?" He doesn't hear her response, if she risked one at all, but Mingyu picks it up. "He makes me happy, too, even when I get sad."

  
He notes he should have bought some more sleeping pills. Apologies wither out into his pillows before his mind processes his lips moving, the sun welcoming him for another night of running down sleep and finding it nowhere. He gives in, sits at the balcony with wind pricking at his skin, airing the tension at his throat, his lungs, languid blinks of his eyes to ward off sleepiness from sleeplessness.

He wonders what to say, how to say it, if he can say anything at all.

\----

His phone kicks off low battery before his alarm should have went off but opening his phone back up to a flood of pictures, messages of Seungcheol typing out three new names into his memory contents waking up into the late afternoon worth it. When Wonwoo sends out a message of congratulations, of wishing the blossoming family and new additions with lives of health, happiness, and three times the milestones, he blinks hard at the request for a video call from Seungcheol.

"Wonwoo, I wish you can hold them all right now," is the first thing Seungcheol says to him once he accepts the call. "Most of the guys are here. Chan's here, too, after his performance in Daegu."

It pans to a squinting half of Soonyoung's face--part of his forehead, one pinched eye, and furrowing eyebrow--and his fingertip brushing up to a tiny hand. A laugh curdles from Wonwoo's throat, the sound foreign at his brain after so long, and he fingers off the tear from his own eye. He brings over a box of tissues, realizing there and then that his heart respires relieved for Seungcheol and Yujin's family. After everything that happened in the past few days, this is the best thing the world can offer to him right now.

He wants to forget how awful he felt not acknowledging their first child and Seungcheol having to assure him that it's okay he didn't know. He wishes he stayed home a little longer, catch the celebration of the triplets with their parents, with everyone.

The screen zooms out and he suspends from a high corner of the hospital room with Chan at the bottom. He waves at Wonwoo, but all he can mention is the red eye shadow and piercing eyeliner, rushes of his performance still shimmering all over his face in the way he inhales deep with a crack of a smile, with the adrenaline of an encore's end. He's sure the other guys have been cooing at the youngest hurrying to the hospital without consideration of wiping his makeup off. If Wonwoo is there, he would pull Chan's face in his hands, poke about how handsome he looks with this new style of makeup for the stage.

"I have three!" Seungcheol reminds himself more than anyone else in the room. Then he slumps forward, elbows at his knees and face in his hands, but from the fragments of "They're healthy, they're okay. All four of them are healthy," Wonwoo knows it's far from the reality of his concerns.

"What are their names?" Wonwoo asks, tallying one blanketed child in Seokmin's arms, another in Soonyoung's arms besides him, and the third in Yujin's arms at the hospital bed.

After asking Chan to follow him around with the camera, Seungcheol goes to Seokmin, strokes a finger at the sleeping baby's fist, above Seokmin's gibberish of a tune. When the baby yawns, he hears Soonyoung's "It's working, Seokmin, keep doing it."

"This is Choi Daehyun," is gentle at his ears. "He was born at one fifty-two in the morning. He's the oldest and heaviest of the three, and I love him." One kiss onto sleeping Daehyun's forehead and he takes two steps to the side, to Soonyoung. "And this is Choi Yoonhyun. He was born a minute after Daehyun, and I love him." One kiss onto sleeping Yunhyun's forehead and the entire screen shuffles into a blur until Wonwoo makes out the smile on Yujin's face, a quick peck of Seungcheol's lips on hers, before the camera focuses on the newborn in her arms. "And this is Choi Soohyun. She was born last, at fifty-five, and weighs a lot less than the two guys." Seungcheol leans over the railing, kisses the crown of his only daughter's head three times, before he straightens back up.

Seungcheol sits at the chair, eyes trading off from looking at each one of his kids for a few seconds. "You know, the guys would be complete if you stayed here a little longer, Jisoo flew from L.A., and Seungkwan caught an earlier flight from Jeju."

With the regret of leaving too soon, but he's more thankful of Seungcheol calling him for this. Seungcheol says that next time, he'll have Wonwoo sing to his kids or play with them, help out in propping them up at their feeding chairs or hurrying one of them down from escaping the room. And he'd love to be there; Wonwoo would grab the opportunities to lessen the stress of parenthood, be with the people who knew him for so long for even longer.

Seungcheol takes another scan around once Seokmin starts to sing an actual lullaby with decipherable words. "They're going to be an armful."

Chan exchanges the phone over to Yujin at the hospital bed and after a second polite congratulations, Wonwoo asks how she's feeling, if her back is okay now that she gave birth.

"My abdomen hurts, so I can only hold one of them at a time," she pouts. "But I feel like I took the biggest poop in my life, so that makes up for it." Wonwoo laughs at that, not expecting that kind of reply at all, and a second is needed for her to return it as she places a hand on her stomach and frees out an airy giggle. "I hope you come back soon, Wonwoo, so you can play with them. When they get older, I know they'll love your bedtime stories."

Wonwoo sits back, wonders how she knows about his bedtime stories he offers only to Seoyeon. Yujin's eyes flicker across, seems to catch onto his suspicions, and clears up to him that, "Seoyeon was here earlier; she's outside right now, actually. She told me she wants to tell stories to the kids, like Uncle Wonwoo. I asked her what she meant by that, and she told me you would tell her stories before she sleeps."

He drones out any other words she might have said because it's been a long while since he last told her a story, since he last thought of a new story, since he left home. Maybe Seoyeon doesn't want any more of his stories, doesn't even want to talk to him again. "You look tired, Wonwoo," holds on a scary kind of peace from her, as if she doesn't want anyone else to hear. "Get some sleep."

Wonwoo nods but before he closes out the call, Yujin thanks him for the baby clothes, diapers, an emergency kit for multiple newborns, "Mingyu brought them in with Seoyeon and said you picked them all out."

 

 

He wakes up to a second flood of pictures. The first one he sees is Seoyeon holding onto Soohyun in her arms, careful of the blanket from touching the hospital's floor. He swipes and it's Mingyu caressing Soohyun this time, a hand frozen from reaching out to her face. The last picture he remembers before closing his phone is the picture of Mingyu sitting down at a chair, with Soohyun in his arms and Seoyeon tiptoeing beside him to steal a better look.

Wonwoo wonders if this is how it was like when Jihye gave birth to Seoyeon, if this is what he missed out, _again_ , and from years ago.

 _03:19_  
**_Wonwoo_  **  
_There are so many pictures of Soohyun  
I want to see the boys, too _

 _03:20_  
**_Soonyoung_  **  
_It's because the last time, they wanted a daughter I think_  
_And Minghao's phone died before we could send pictures of Daehyun and Yoonhyun  
You'll have to wait for them!!_

\----

Going back to his work might be better for Wonwoo. He thinks it will clear out his thoughts for some time by not having to constantly think about Mingyu and Seoyeon. It's an awful thing he can do right now, ignoring them, but if he keeps thinking about it, his judgement might steer him far from the best decisions.

But it's worse than he first made it out to be, though, when he walks in. Messenger bag at his shoulder and ready to quietly head back into his office and dust the sign off, plug in his fridge and decide what to buy at the market later, he never thought anyone would ask him about Mingyu and Seoyeon, since they've only visited his workplace once. And he spits out that they're fine, that they miss them, and when everyone says they miss them, too, a bitter punch at his stomach boils up to the base of his throat.

 

 

He has to brush it off soon, though, when he welcomes in his first client since his vacation.

"My dad owns a shoe repair shop and there was this one customer who kept coming in every Wednesday for a pair of Oxfords from years ago. I decided to repair his shoes while my dad was busy talking on the phone. I fixed his shoes and I said how faded and wrinkly they were. I even told him that it might save him a lot more in the long-run to buy a new pair.

"He told me he couldn't let go of those shoes. I told myself, 'Okay, that's fine. I won't judge him' because there are some things you can't let go, no matter how broken, how much easier it would be to throw them out. I patched up his shoes and polished them and when I was done, he paid and left.

"The Wednesday after that, he didn't come. He didn't come the week after, either, and I thought-" Wonwoo slides over a box of tissues over the table but when her fingers brush his in the midst of plucking one off, her entire hand folds over his palm. He squeezes her hand, assures her to take as much time as she needs before her voice cracks. "I thought I did something wrong. Even my dad was wondering if I did something wrong."

"But he came back after four weeks. It was," she sighs, closes her eyes, and Wonwoo proffers to thread his fingers between hers over the table, "it broke my heart. It looked like he was crying for years but when I looked down at his shoes, they were torn apart. I couldn't even think of fixing them, but he still asked if we could try. His shoes were caked in mud, the leather was completely torn apart. The welt was ripped from the cap and his toes would have been exposed.

"I couldn't take it, so I went to the back and begged my dad to fix them. My dad took his shoes and promised he'll try, but he couldn't guarantee about fixing them like new. I stayed in the back of the shop and cried because why did he keep coming back to fix those shoes?

"We tried to fix his shoes, but there was nothing we could do about them. Then I...then he told me why he couldn't throw them away.

"Wonwoo," breathes into the tension and it reminds himself to breathe, that things are okay for her after, that everything she depicts between the tissues is over and better now, "his mother gave him those shoes before she passed away. And every Wednesday, he visits her grave with those shoes on, rain or snow, and he told me he wanted to look his best every time, like they're new, like the moment she gave them to him."

She shakes her head, tears lingering at the corner of her eyes, and Wonwoo plucks two tissues from the box--one for her and one for him. "I don't know, this is going to sound really corny. I met him at my dad's shoe repair shop, so I just want him to know that I want to be with him in every step of the way."

 

 

That night, he calls his mother, and it's the first time he cried over the phone, stumbled on saying the short words of "I miss you." This time, he doesn't wait for Bohyuk to wade the tears out, doesn't wait for his father to get home from his morning walk. He waits with his mother, phone tucked at his ear to listen to the light at her voice when she asks about his work, his life in the States after returning.

\----

Appointments don't hold him hostage in his office as much as drop-ins today. The questions are often the same, repeated at least once from each person who winded up in his office.

"How can I say 'I love you' without actually saying it?"

"Has anyone else been through this?"

"Your wedding vows must have been good."

It's the last client of the day when the moon bids an early goodnight and the sun rushes with a fleeting goodbye. Snow builds up into blankets all over the city, a lump at the metered car parked at the sidewalk by his window, and bits latching onto the client's hair, despite the fur hood. He welcomes her in, but she stays put at the door.

"I'm sorry, I brought my son with me today," is anxious from her lips.

He stands up, shakes his head, and lifts in another chair to the other side of the desk. "Bring him inside. I don't mind at all."

As the kettle whirs atop his fridge, he brushes her worries again when she explains that, "I'll be remarrying in the summer. I'm sorry, there's no one to watch over him while I'm here."

He pours hot water into the paper cup once the kettle simmers down from a boil and he caps off the bubbling brown. He kneels down, calls out for Julian, and asks if he would like some hot chocolate. Wonwoo offers tea to Teresa, but she declines. Her son hesitates over, burying himself into his mother's arm to whisper something before he runs over.

"No need to be sorry," Wonwoo says again as he cautions Julian about burning his tongue if he sips on it right now. "Walk slowly, okay? How about you hold it with both hands and give some to your mother?"

All the boy's concentration trickles into keeping the hot chocolate inside the cup, walking back to his mother without tripping on anything, and relaxing the grit at his teeth in doing all of those tasks all at once. He seems close to Seoyeon's age and when he asks, Wonwoo hopes the younger boy never had to go through what Seoyeon did and still does.

At one point, Wonwoo opens up his lap as a seat when his mother can't contain her son on hers. Wonwoo pats his lap, clears up the desk in front of him to lay out a fresh notepad and pencils. Julian barrels over, places the cup on the table and a hand at Wonwoo's chair, and slips on his legs. As Wonwoo strikes out sentences in pen, draws arrows mapping to the correct words, phrase, dates, he listens to the boy sip on the hot chocolate, release a savored sigh for the flavor, before going back to the pile of scribbles on the notepad.

In the end of the day, she thanks him for looking out for her son. "You must be a good father, Wonwoo."

And Wonwoo shakes his head, says nothing more when Julian offers a page of scribbles to him before another page to his mother. When they leave, he tacks the drawing on his wall, near the pictures of Seoyeon at the ice rink, and his office holds him hostage after Teresa and Julian, after catching snowflakes whirring to a spin.

\----

Sleep still refuses to meet him at the other side of day and he believes the best way for sleep to return to him is to stay longer in his office, in the bridal and suit shops, out with a familiar face or brief introductions before stepping into a new restaurant, cafe, or bakery. After he locks up his office, he heads up the sales floor. Half of the time, he courses a finger over intricate lace of dresses or stares down Robert taking measurements of a pair of pants in the back. He starts shadowing a spot behind Sam as she picks out a few dresses and Wonwoo's long legs and arms serve less anxiety of the dress sweeping the floor when someone requests for a long train.

"So are you going to be a tailor now, instead of writing vows?" Robert jokes at him once.

Wonwoo laughs with him, waves it off, and says it's because he's finished with vows for the day.

\----

Wonwoo can't keep running away from Mingyu, but it doesn't mean they can't agree, together, to take some time away from each other. It might help, Mingyu reasons, because their lives don't revolve around each other. Mingyu's life holds spots for projects, Seoyeon, Seoyeon's school and friends, his work and friends and family. Wonwoo's life spins around writing wedding vows, the guys, his work, his friends and family.

They agree for a period of no video calls, phone calls, messages. They agree, and Wonwoo can't help but blame himself.

 

 

Wonwoo accompanies Sam to her car after she locks the shop up, after he receives a string of compliments from his clients, immediate invitations to their weddings. She bundles the scarf around her neck on their way to the parking garage and he bounces at his step to adjust the shoulder strap of his bag.

"I've never seen you here this late," she notes as they wait for the elevator to slide down to ground floor. "Are you getting more clients than usual?"

Wonwoo shrugs about clients' heightened demand for help on their wedding vows. He doesn't mention Mingyu, though, about needing some time apart.

\----

"It looks like you haven't slept at all," Bohyuk's face twists the second he accepts the call.

Wonwoo shrugs. "I really haven't." He rambles on losing sleep, of being scared to drive in fear of crashing his car, and sleeping in his office won't sound too bad if only he had a shower and a meal inside those four walls that aren't around his bed. He slaps on working more, not just in his office but around the shop, of fooling himself that working more in the day meant sleeping more at night.

"Is it because of Mingyu and Seoyeon?"

"Yeah, it is," Wonwoo croaks. "But I don't really want to talk about it."

His brother nods, asks if he wouldn't mind staying on the line, talking to their parents while they prepare breakfast.

"No, not at all," rushes out relieved. "I'd love that."

In between Bohyuk's whines about Yerin being far for the month and his mother suggesting to go up there with her, Wonwoo grins at his, "But I don't want to leave you and Dad here alone. What if you need help in the house?"

"Wonwoo, you should send us pictures," his father asks once he slips into the seat at the counter, where Bohyuk deserted Wonwoo at. The smile on his father's face, his eyebrows arched up with his nods to coax Wonwoo to nod, too, breaks a smile of Wonwoo's own.

"I'll try," he surrenders. Maybe he can ask Junhui and Minghao for some tips.

\----

The rain forgives them this afternoon and Mariano robs the chance of twirling his keys at his finger, gesturing Wonwoo to follow out of the shop, and into the passenger seat of his car. The clouds guide them to another hole-in-the-wall corner that lives off of seaweed crisps, slurps of steaming broth, long strings of ramen. They reserve a far corner, and Wonwoo can't help but toy with the edge of the menu because the last time they did this, it didn't end as well as how it started.

"How have you been, Wonwoo?" is the first thing he asks since they left the shop with his suggestion to eat somewhere on their breaks.

He's awake, he's conscious. He still has his apartment, his car, and his job. No one in his family hurls out a lung or wishes Wonwoo did. He can still feel all ten of his fingers and all ten of his toes. He thinks he has it better than a lot of other people. "I've been okay," is a low mumble.

"It doesn't look like it," is a bare whisper over the table. "Do you want some more time off? You came back sooner to work this time."

He shakes his head because time for himself confines his thoughts, dormant worries of Mingyu and Seoyeon, reminders of the airport and when everything fell apart. "I'm okay, I really am. I haven't been sleeping well, but it's just jet lag."

"I hear clients leaving your office, telling me you've been so helpful lately, but have you been helping yourself?" drops a weight to the pit of his stomach.

 

 

Lunch out with his boss earns him three days to himself. When he relays this information to Bohyuk, he regrets it because he should have remembered that anything related to Wonwoo's health will end up at his parents' ears and they will barge in with worries bouncing off the walls, the ocean, the speakers.

His mother's cries, his brother's soothing words, and his father's gestures to assure them that he will be fine, it all smothers Wonwoo with the water barely under the tip of his nose when he wanted this video call to be a calm one. "Hey, Bohyuk, can I talk to Dad?"

His phone bathes in pale yellows of his parents' room, a glimpse of pictures on the wall and on the nightstand. His graduation photo remains fixated at the same spot on the wall, right beside Bohyuk's graduation photo. He cringes at a baby picture, one of him in his tiny denim overalls and tiny denim jacket, hands tucked into his pockets and posing in front of a lightpost overseeing a mid-stream of dark waters.

"Something bothering you, Wonwoo? You seemed so happy the last time we saw you," his father asks, quirking his own glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.

"I am," automatic whenever his parents ask. "I really am, but-" His father doesn't force the words out of him; instead, his father blinks, shifts over the bed before reclining onto the pile of pillows. He wants to tell his father about Mingyu, the airport, the past two years of wondering. He wants someone outside of his group of friends, someone older, wiser, who can show him a road paved by decades of experience, someone he's known all his life but still hid so much. "There's-I don't," chokes Wonwoo up and he inhales the blur at his eyes, sting at his nose.

"You can tell me whenever you're ready," his father reassures him, sharp glints at his glasses doing nothing to stop the way his father's eyes soften with the smile. "It doesn't have to be now or today."

"I want to tell you now," he admits. "I-if I," diffuses down to a sigh, consumes the words before he can release anything out. "What if I think I love Mingyu?"

The smile fades from his father's eyes and so does the creak of the mattress, the sharp glint at his glasses from taking them off and setting them down. His father nods and he expects something that will make him regret for asking, for telling his father, for opening up and disappointing him of not granting the wish of a grandchild of his own, can recall the first steps, first words, every single milestone the moment the child was born. The question of "Are you getting time off because of this?" throws him off.

His jaws work up and down, searching for the right words to say, but they pick any words as long as it sounds like they're answering his father. "Yeah, I am," lethargic out the crevices of his throat. His fingers grab onto the first thing they can over his table, flicks the corner of a sticky note between his fingertips. "I started opening up to him more. After I came home the first time, we kept talking. Then when I came back this time, I started holding his hand, hugging him, and it was a kind of intimacy I never had before-" his father rolls his eyes with a grin. "No, not like that, Dad," spills with a chuckle. It fades out with a sigh, though, when Wonwoo continues on, "I was getting so comfortable with him that I-" halts sudden at his throat when Seoyeon's question replays into the back of his eyes, "that I kissed him at the airport. I kissed him in front of Seoyeon." His lungs scavenge for a steady beat, a full breath with no quiver at his voice. "She cried so hard and she asked him why he kissed me."

He should be talking about this to Mingyu, but he's too scared of what Seoyeon would say, would do if she ever saw his face or heard his voice. The last time he talked to her ended the call with tears, of Seoyeon wondering if what she felt is wrong in any sense. "She asked him if it's a bad thing that she still likes me." And his heart beats heavy in his chest for putting her in this situation, wondering what's right or wrong for something she had no fault in.

His father nods, though, and the first thing he says in a while is to talk to Mingyu. "Why don't you do regular voice calls? That way, you don't have to look at him. You should ask him when Seoyeon isn't around."

Wonwoo nods just to nod, just to answer his father because parents never want empty answers, even if it's sometimes the wrong answer. He should talk to Mingyu, but he's horrified of hurting Seoyeon even more.

"Let Seoyeon come to Changwon," his father suggests with a raise of his eyebrows. "I think Bohyuk and Yerni would love to take care of her."

"Would you really let Bohyuk watch over Seoyeon?" Wonwoo grins at the memory so many happier days away. "He threw a snowball at her face."

His father laughs deep, digging out every ounce of his heart into a few seconds of hearing happiness, and that's what Wonwoo loves about his father's laugh growing up and still growing. "Seoyeon is a tough one. She doesn't cry a lot, only when it really hurts." His father flicks a tear off at his eye. "I ask Seoyeon and Mingyu to come because he called the night you left, and he apologized and told me what happened at the airport. He's sorry and worried you'd be angry at him when you wouldn't answer his calls."

His chin sinks limp into his chest and he inhales another round of tears back, fights off the fuzz at his eyes, the drop over his keyboard, but it fails at how thoughtful Mingyu is to bring it up to his parents and actually apologize. "What did you say to him?" curls itself up into a corner, because his father didn't say anything relieving or angering at the start of this call.

"I told him, 'Knowing Wonwoo all his life,'" leaves Wonwoo spitting out a tired laugh that he needed so much right now, "'he wouldn't let you go that easily.'" The screen blanches white before the backdrop is his parents' floral blankets, white pillows, and the view of his father lying across the sheets throws him back to the nights when he video called his friends, before everyone's lives ran away from promises of staying in touch, that the guys will never be mad at Wonwoo for pursuing a dream at the other end of the ocean. "Talk to him, Wonwoo. Talk to him about what you told me and more. Tell him why you had to take time off work."

He smears a palm over his face. "I'll try to."

"Thank you for telling me all of this," his father's eyes curves closed to make room for the smile. "I think you and Mingyu will be fine after talking."

The door opens at his father's side of the call. After a second, his mother slides into the screen, lying beside him. "Wonwoo, eat more," his mother says with a squint at her eyes, adjusting her vision to the proximity of it all. "The States have more buffets, more food."

He chuckles at that, promises that he will look for buffets, more places to eat at, more chances of caring for himself.

\----

 _19:15_  
**_Mingyu_  **  
_Seoyeon has a field trip today_  
_If you want to talk_

Running away means he has to stop at one point, either because he's tired or there's nowhere else to run to. He follows his father's advice, though, and calls Mingyu. At the third ring, his "Hi" lives off a sigh than an actual word.

"Hi," Mingyu mirrors, just as exhausted. "How are you?"

He returns a mere, "I've been okay," and when he returns the question back to Mingyu, he only offers another sigh and he hears Mingyu drag his hand over his face, press of a breath against his palm. "It might not look like it, but Seoyeon does miss you. She still likes to wear your shirts to sleep." It's the first time they hear each other laugh and he's not sure if it's one of the better things that came out of his recent days. "I think she's too shy to wear them in front of you."

They're both trying to avoid anything about the airport, they know. Wonwoo destroys the barrier of moving this conversation to where they need it to go, where it's meant to be, "I really want to make things work. I didn't realize it until a client came in with her son. I played with him, and he reminded me of Seoyeon." His words are stranded, wandering one way or another with no purpose of finding the right thing to end it with. "I really miss both of you."

"I want to make things work, too," Mingyu admits and if they were sitting beside each other, Wonwoo would slip his hand, thread their fingers together, just to lift a kiss onto Mingyu's knuckle, back of his palm.

"You told my parents about the airport."

A pause shatters between them until Mingyu rushes in. "I'm so sorry. I told them without asking you. I didn't even ask if it was okay to tell them about us."

"No, Mingyu, it's okay,"  _it's perfectly fine_ , "I'm really grateful you did that. My dad was the one to tell me to call you."

The memory, future days of scaring Seoyeon off lingers, hangs onto each of his words and thoughts. Another quietude settles between the two of them--muffled intakes of air, shuffles of sheets, a single shared sigh.

"How are you really, Wonwoo?"

After all this time, he still wonders how Mingyu can pick up the tiniest of nuances. Mingyu asks if he's eating okay, sleeping any better, if work hasn't been do bad, if he returned to work. And he decides to be completely honest with how he's been, not stopping for a second to consider whether or not he should say something, because this is Mingyu. This is the Mingyu he's known for years of his life and the Mingyu he wants to know more of for even longer. He would give all his words to Mingyu because he trusts his words with him more than anyone else.

He admits he hasn't been sleeping well that even the people at his workplace have been dropping hints about it. The reminder of buying more sleeping pills remains untouched on his phone, on his fridge, at the sticky note hanging on his laptop. He brings up, a second time, the client who brought her son over and how it reminded him of Seoyeon and his hopes that Julian hasn't seen too much of the world yet. He wishes he can talk to Seoyeon and explain everything, apologize for hurting her and for scaring her, ask if she still wants to talk to him and if she doesn't, it's understandable and he won't ask twice about it.

\----

They allow another day to pass before Mingyu proposes on talking to Seoyeon. "I won't be there; I'll give her the phone and you can talk to her about anything."

"I want to ask her about the airport," Wonwoo says lowly, and Mingyu says he'd appreciate it if he does.

 

 

It's a phone call, no peeks of Seoyeon and how she's been, none of the compliments of narrowing gaps between her teeth or her hair growing past her shoulder blades because he won't be able to see any, no vision scattering the screen to search for a story. It's just their voices, their words, nothing seen between them.

"Hi, Seoyeon," Wonwoo breathes out when Mingyu says he'll be going.

The gasp sears a tear at his eyes, days since he's last heard anything other than a cry from her. "I miss you, Uncle Wonwoo."

His teeth bite into his lips to push another sail of tears back. "Did you go to daycare today? Did you eat yet?" His questions delve into what she did at school, how the field trip went for her, if she read any new books, and if she learned anything new.

It inches Wonwoo into ease when she responds about not going to daycare today, that she ate rice cakes her father made, and a tooth fell out yesterday. She adds on a story from her classroom, of her classmate accidentally shooting a pencil to the other side of the room and landing at her teacher's desk. Most of all, Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose when she says she wants to go back to New York, despite the reason being she likes the pasta there.

But he simply asks her what she remembers about the pasta. Maybe it's something Mingyu can make for her if they find a recipe. "Do you really want to come back to New York?"

"I do," she answers shyly, and it bears the tone of years ago, in the car ride when she snorted in front of him for the first time. "I want to see you and the big park again."

It calms his worries of the past days, but it doesn't stop his worries enough from asking if she's mad at him. At that, a sniff scrapes at his ears, and Wonwoo can't help but follow suit with a sniff to Seoyeon's end of the phone. He moves his phone away from his lips, to breathe in until his lungs stop trembling, his heart stops hurting. "Is it alright if I talk to your dad?"

The sound of his heart breaking sounds an awful lot like the sound of Seoyeon crying.

The blankets muffle, the door clicks open, and Seoyeon's feeble, "Uncle Wonwoo wants to talk to you" shrivels by the distance between her lips and the phone, Wonwoo's belief of their relationship and what really can be saved from it.

Mingyu coos her name. "Are you still there?"

If Wonwoo only brings in cries, hopeless attempts to revive the days from before the airport, if all he can do to Seoyeon is hurt her, they shouldn't do this anymore. They shouldn't have believed, or even bet a sliver of faith, that being together will bring back those days. Maybe he'll be better off reverting back to how they were--never knowing Seoyeon or rekindling the loss of words, lives from either ends of the world, captive in his own office. He doesn't want to go back to that life but if it means Seoyeon will cry less, if this kind of pain will never greet her again, then he would do it.

Mingyu doesn't say anything in between the heavy breathing but when he does, it's a simple question of calling back later. Wonwoo blurts out that he'll be seeing a client, which isn't a lie, but it's mostly through his inbox and crammed email accounts.

"Isn't it Sunday there?" Mingyu cuts in. A sound escapes his throat and Mingyu frays it all off. "Forget what I said. I'll-I don't know, Wonwoo, I have to go."

_How did I mess this up?_

Mingyu whispers half her name before the call diffuses to its end. He turns his phone off, shuts down his laptop, shuts his entire brain down, and wonders why he let this happen, for dropping everything. He can't imagine having to stop himself from calling Mingyu in the middle of his day or to remind himself that he can't tell any more stories to Seoyeon.

If he knows what his heart yearns for, why is it so hard for him to make it happen?

 

 

He waits for the rain to subside into the night before he sits out in his balcony, airs out his thoughts with the wind coaxing his shivering shoulders back inside. The hairs on his arm rise when they run across metal railings, and his head drops into the bent of his elbow, tears fusing with the raindrops, chipped paint jobs and cigarette smoke.

He doesn't realize his mumbling through teeth clatters until someone howls below him, "Just go talk to them."

He peers around, down to the person flicking off specks of his cigarette like shooting stars before a drag. "You sound angry," a man points out and if Wonwoo cared, he would have thought he was mocking him. Wonwoo shrugs, admits he probably is angry at himself than at the world. "What would you do?"

His fingers lock together over the edge before his fingernails seep into his knuckles. He watches his carbon smoke weave into the air, whisk away with a quick whip of wind. "Talk to them, I don't know. Every time I do talk about it, it's never ends well."

"Just do it. It might this time," killing his cigarette with the heel of his foot and bidding him a goodnight. "It better be settled."

 

 

He considers the life tip from the mere stranger one floor down. When he calls Mingyu again, ensuring that Seoyeon is away, the first ring doesn't survive when Wonwoo sighs out his thousandth "I'm sorry" with Mingyu.

With a miserable attempt to laugh it off, a cough stringing the silence together, "I can't believe this." He can't believe they  _both_  want this to happen, that they  _both_  want everything to fall into place in the end. He wants things to be okay--for Seoyeon and Mingyu more than himself--even when it's certain that it will take a while to get there. "I'm scared, but it doesn't mean I don't want to try."

"I want to try, I really do," fans off placid into their ears. "You thought about Seoyeon first, and it means a lot for both of us. We just have to talk to her more about it."

Wonwoo grins with the thought of Mingyu telling him his usual "You're so much better with words, though" at the back of his mind.

And Wonwoo doesn't want this chance disappearing before his eyes  _again_. He wants to have Seoyeon and Mingyu more in his life, in one way or another, so when Mingyu says to go to sleep, the words want to freefall from the edge of his tongue, but they still latch on with the ends of their fingers.

"Goodnight and I...I-"

Mingyu chuckles over the receiver and for once, for the first time in so long, it's tranquil, with barely a hint of doubt that they will figure things out day-by-day, no tinge of trepidation that soils the entire canvas of their lives. "You don't have to say it."

"No, let me say it" is the happiest thing Wonwoo said the past couple of days, even if it's not by much. "I want to say it." They share quiet smiles, unseen from both ends, but he knows they're there. "I love you, Mingyu. I really do," vulnerable from his lips and wishes no one can take that away from him.

Mingyu's voice is soft, almost unheard, but he doesn't need to hear it to know. "I love you, too, Wonwoo. I'll talk to you later."

\----

They resort to calling in the middle of the night at Mingyu's side of the universe because they don't want to push anything onto Seoyeon so soon. Drop-ins greet him in most of his days and he supposes it's normal for this time of the year, with the weather attracting more snow and rain than seasons, years before this. Though he hopes to talk to clients more than on a drop-in basis, it means less workload for him down the road, more time to discuss with Mingyu.

But one night, not long after their conversation and three words, Mingyu rings him fresh into a new day at his side of the globe. It's the first time he  _sees_  Seoyeon and even if she's not awake, Wonwoo appreciates that Mingyu chances this.

With Seoyeon asleep in his arms, he leans back into the chair and pats her leg, rocks her left and right with a wrinkle of a tune grinding the walls of his throat. Her cheek squishes to the side of his arm and he grits his teeth at the chair legs scratching the floor with a rough screech. He turns around to show Seoyeon from the other side, a snore startling from her lips.

Mingyu returns to his seat at the chair, smiles down on her. "The last time I did this, she was half this size."

And they watch Seoyeon sleep in his arms before Mingyu mumbles another, "She's so big now." Wonwoo asks how Seoyeon fell asleep at the computer, if she has been asleep for long. "I was showing her quick animations I did, but then she fell asleep while I was retouching one." He brushes the hair from her face, brushes his lips onto her forehead. "She told me she misses you."

\----

Mingyu props himself against the headboard and lamplight dims them down to imitate shadows than live off as humans. From the angle at the foot of the bed, Seoyeon rests over Mingyu's chest, facing towards the light and away from Wonwoo, and Mingyu pats a palm over her back, tugs a blanket past her shoulders and past his chest. Plans of having Seoyeon in the conversation yet to arise, and Wonwoo fears of what Mingyu might have to say.

"Can I talk to you about something, Seoyeon?" Mingyu starts off softly, but the tone scares Wonwoo. "I want Uncle Wonwoo to hear, too." When she offers a weak hum, he breathes first, a second, "I like having Uncle Wonwoo around, even when he's so far away. I like talking to him and I like it even more when he comes over. I hope you do, too."

"I do," she whimpers. "I miss him sometimes."

"I do, too," he mirrors. "But I like him so much that I'll act different around him from how I am with your other uncles. I don't kiss Uncle Seungcheol and Uncle Seokmin because I feel different with Uncle Wonwoo."

A shaky inhale, a sniff resounds from under the blanket, from Seoyeon, and he watches her curl on top of him even more. She whimpers a "But Mommy," that teeters from a cry.

Mingyu thumbs something off her face before his own. "It means we might not see Mommy again, but Uncle Wonwoo wants to see you all the time." She cries out for her mother again and this time, Wonwoo listens to himself sob behind the muted microphone. "Mommy still loves you, Seoyeon, but it hurts more for me and Mommy to be together that we were scared it will hurt you, too."

And Seoyeon cracks. Her sob muffles into her father's shirt and Wonwoo's heart lurches for the way she shakes her head against Mingyu's chest. "I don't think Mommy loves me anymore. I think Mommy hates me."

He cuts off his camera, his microphone completely. His eyes burn, his throat aches, and he wishes he can give all his love to Seoyeon from the distance. He wishes she never had to feel so tied between feeling wrong and feeling right. He wishes the thought of her own mother hating her never crossed her mind because Seoyeon did nothing wrong. He doesn't know what happened in the divorce, but by the heart Seoyeon allows him to see, he's certain she did nothing wrong, she did nothing wrong in the divorce for it to happen.

"Mommy doesn't hate you at all," Mingyu continues, and he wonders how he can still have the will to talk. "Mommy and I thought it was better this way. We don't like to talk anymore because both of us changed. It's like how you were so shy with Uncle Wonwoo but now, you tell me all the time that you miss him. For me and Mommy, we were happy and we were the happiest when we were with you, but we said mean things to each other. We couldn't take it back because it hurt so much."

Seoyeon cries even harder, buries her face into her father's chest, swallows his heartbeat and Wonwoo's own. The call dissolves into a pause of words, mere sighs and pats over blankets, shirts, jackets, Seoyeon's air to fill in the void.

What she says clouds into his chest, and he asks her to repeat it.

"I wish Uncle Wonwoo is here."

Wonwoo's heart ties to asking Seoyeon what she feels about this, if he should talk to her again about this another time, and the dread of Seoyeon still thinking about her mother sometimes when she's with Wonwoo. It makes no sense, though, when Seoyeon just told them that she wants him there, with them, with her. But there's always the void of her mother that can't be occupied with Wonwoo's presence.

 

 

He stays on the line, allows the drain of words to fill the silence again, until Mingyu cranes his neck left and right of Seoyeon's face and confirms she fell asleep on his chest. He sits up to gently lay her down on the bed, plucks a ball with flimsy flaps at the sides from her hands.

Wonwoo carves out the Stitch Tsum Tsum in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so !!! i've been asked about the end of this fic. in terms of how much of this fic is left until An End, there are 4 chapters left :(( i think i've added all the tags i needed for this fic, so this fic is no longer tagged "Other Tags to be Added" anymore!! i also said on twitter that i wanted to leave a string of numbers that can lead to a hint of The End but i tortured everyone with words so idk about torturing everyone with numbers lmao  
> also !!! the client's story at the shoe repair shop is inspired by the animation ["One Small Step" by TAIKO Studios](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWd4mzGqQYo)  
> thank you so much for reading though!! i hope you all have lovely holidays!  
> i'm here at [ tumblr](http://seokmints-thighs.tumblr.com/), [twitter,](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity) if you like to scream at me


	17. New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's been longer while since my last update, but life hit a little too hard since then. even though i use writing as a stress reliever, it didn't work out this time, so i decided not to write anything for a while. if you're reading this update when this chapter is posted, thank you so much for your patience and understanding. i hope you've all been doing well!  
> i added a couple songs on the [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ml8vMQhfAtH1aEA6UrjqV?si=mwoX2m6eSZyTdljylRDd5g) one of them is jonghyun's "end of a day"  
> anyway, here are some **warnings:** like i said, it's been a long while since i wrote so my words are gross. there is one bad word and this chapter touches upon jihye a bit. but if you think there are other warnings i should add, pls don't hesitate to message me!  
> 

The moon starts ticking down to better days not long into the night, and the sun takes over, counts down the seconds for good nights and better slumbers when Mingyu accepts fragments of video calls throughout the month. Slotted between Seoyeon's school hours, sometimes when Mingyu's colleagues abandon him as one of the last few in the office, or when Wonwoo marks off all his appointments for the day before the clock forces him out and the graveyard shift security guards file their ways into the shop. There isn't much they can talk about when they sneak in a handful of words, cautioning from getting caught by a miscalculated minute hand and an unexpected opening of the door. They're not sure if Seoyeon would be okay with them talking and despite begging Mingyu to ask her if she does, to placate his anxiety, he submits to Mingyu's sureness that she doesn't hate him.

But how long has it been since Seoyeon said she wanted to see him?

Mingyu's message in the midst of a drop-in client wracks at him and his heartbeat surges up to his throat. His eyes linger much longer than a quick glance at  _Seoyeon wants to ask you something_  that has the client asking if everything at his end is okay.

The corners of his lips dip back down because if her question was guarded under better circumstances, he wouldn't want to run away from the message. But he wants to see Seoyeon and make sure she's okay more than anything right now, and he only hopes it will be.

  
The tips of her hair grazing her shoulders, rather than their usual resting places at her lower back, and her fringe curtaining her forehead and straight over her eyes slap something into Wonwoo. If things were better for them, Mingyu would have told him all about this and perhaps sent a picture as the hairdresser measured the snipped inches of her hair. From the back, Mingyu ties her hair up, flicks at her swinging hair when he smooths a hand over her head and tightens the entire ponytail.

He flicks a mental note into his brain to brush to off, remind himself that any updates about Seoyeon might as well shatter him when he can't even pass a word to her without a drop of tears from either of their keyboards. But why does it hurt now? It's not as if Seoyeon is actually his daughter and Mingyu is someone he can really call his.

When he sees her for the first time, a couple of her teeth are still deciding for the right moments and spots to poke into. She must have lost those teeth recently, not long after he left. Did she cry when her tooth came off? Did Mingyu yank the loose tooth out in the bathroom or did she wiggle it during school? The questions flood him all at once, and the burden of missing out on more milestones in her life fills his lungs up even more.

Her name refuses to leave his lips as she settles on Mingyu's lap, but she smiles, exposes more of those gaps between her teeth. She crumples out an "I miss you" between the pout, rub of her eyes with her hands.

He risks in a deep breath, suspecting her first words to him in a while as something sadder than "I miss you," but it all collapses. Seoyeon's words dissolve into a sniff, a cough for some air out, and the search for her hands to search for no purpose of wiping off the wet trail at her cheeks. "Why can't Uncle Wonwoo stay here?"

She turns towards Mingyu, buries her face into his chest, and he pats the back of her hair, kisses the top of her head when he mumbles that she will see Uncle Wonwoo again soon. And Wonwoo despises himself for even considering never seeing Seoyeon again, especially when it turns out, her thoughts bathe in the same sorrow of missing each other. He also hates how seeing him "soon" is still under the definition of indefinite.

"I just don't know when yet," Mingyu admits, rumble of his voice tilted with guilt.

But the uncertainty throws something off in all of them, in Seoyeon. She plants her hands on Mingyu's shoulders, pushes herself off his lap, and follows the hallway out of their view. A whine resounds from the back of her throat when Mingyu reaches out again, and Wonwoo prays that she allows his fingers to latch on.

His fingertips whip off he hand and they hear the door click shut, no slams or wiggling of the knob locked out, and the sound of a defeated sigh silences the rest of the world. For a second, Wonwoo wishes that single breath can bring the stars together and align everything to where they're meant to be, even if it meant they weren't meant to be together. Having to watch Seoyeon reject Mingyu, her own father, for probably the thousandth time, is something he wishes he can skip over, press a button above his heart to fast-forward everything and evaporate this moment into a mere memory, a nightmare.

His heart drops to the pit of his stomach and he doubts it'll pick itself back up.

It pushes Wonwoo aback for a second, though, blinking a couple more times to make sure he's seeing what he's really seeing, because he never saw this before. He nails the note into his mind that Seoyeon isn't always going to be the giggling girl that kisses his nose the first thing in the morning, the one who bubbles excited for his stories before they hop into bed, the same one who likes to sit on his shoulders and swing a melody from her lips and a beat at her legs. Seoyeon isn't always wearing the crooked smile on her face, isn't going to always have that gentle hold of Wonwoo's hand or warm press of her face into the corner of Mingyu's shoulder when she scoots closer to him under the bed sheets.

Seoyeon is so much more.

Seoyeon is also vice grips at his jacket when they part before front doors, elevator gaps, and airport gates. Seoyeon is allotting the second room for herself just for time to weave its way through the possibility of everything working out between her and her father. Seoyeon is the dreadful voicemail that speaks more of her father than her own self. Seoyeon is every single tear Mingyu bleeds off since the day she was born and every drop of sweat he dries off himself because at the end of each day, he's the one who picks her up and makes sure she can still feel the ground and be okay with walking on it again.

Mingyu runs a hand over his face, lingers of his palm dragging his entire countenance darker, weary, and Wonwoo can't tell if clouds washed out his window and brought his heart along with the rain. "I'll go talk to her" empties from his lips. Mingyu heaves his shoulders for her room, disappears into the corner of the hallway.

Wonwoo wanted this call to go well. It started off much better than he thought, if he's honest with himself, with the simple words of "I miss you" that fell apart, only because the missing part of the picture is Wonwoo besides them. And Seoyeon's tears aren't exactly due to the fact that Seoyeon hates him, that it's as if she hates the idea of his being a bigger part in her life, her father's life, in the life of her small family with her and her father. His mind grinds rusty gears to replay what happened minutes ago, that Seoyeon  _wishes_  he was there with him, that he  _stayed_  with them, and it sends a hope of mending wounds with Seoyeon and a dread of ever leaving her.

It's a dead quiet, anxiety creeping up into the walls and seeping into his earphones across the ocean, but Mingyu's voice permeates the barriers of walls, distance from the speaker and his mouth. He manages to catch a firm, "Seoyeon, what's wrong? What's making you cry?"

"I want Uncle Wonwoo here," she cries, and it scratches raw into his ears.

Mingyu explains that he used to live in Korea. "We went to school together, but he got a job in the States. It makes him happy to be there because he gets to do what he likes to do." His voice lowers, softens at the last part. "There's no work like his here, even when he tried hard to find it."

Seoyeon mumbles something, edges of her voice reaching undecipherable from the microphone. Assuming his "Seoyeon, do you want to sit down?" amidst his plea for her to breathe, Mingyu doesn't seem to catch it, either.

She whimpers and her voice breaks, and he tries to pinpoint when the walls thinned to paper and when the world orbited mute around "You said we might not see Mommy again," when the borders of the ocean collided into a single line, "so why can't Uncle Wonwoo be my dad?"

It strikes Wonwoo numb and he's not sure what to make of it. How long has this thought gnawed into Seoyeon's mind? How long has Wonwoo slipped his tongue bitter at the world "niece" whenever someone asks him about Seoyeon while, all along, she's been wanting the same thing? Does Mingyu want this to happen, whether or not it's for Seoyeon? Is Mingyu  _okay_  with her question, at the mere idea she even thought of that?

And maybe Wonwoo does want this, shelters this desire boxed in his heart and protected with apprehensions of the future. He doesn't want the question to come to life if Mingyu does it only to make Seoyeon happy, even if Mingyu will make Seoyeon happy no matter what. He wants it if Mingyu truly does, too.

The thought that strikes him the hardest is leaving Seoyeon each time. How many plane tickets departed from his hands since she asked herself that question the first time?

He stands up from his chair like a delayed reflex from her question, mutes the microphone, zeroes out the volume, cancels the whole conversation dry. His breaths fog his judgement, wreathes the world into the wrong direction and his head floating up. Everything blurs out his window and he turns to the moon, as if monochrome craters engrave the answers for everyone down below, for everyone else to tell Wonwoo the answers.

 

 

His phone doesn't ring for Mingyu soon after the call ended, as he pricks at his fingertips and his fingernails slice a white trail across the backs of his palms. His lungs struggle to keep his breaths at a steady level and he can't even count the line on his palms without having to wipe the blur from his eyes.

If things would happen the way Wonwoo wants, the way Seoyeon wants, too, he thinks of what he dreams for down the road, with Mingyu and Seoyeon on the same path. His mind reels in dropping her off to school in the morning, waking up beside her until she outgrows the stage of sleeping on the same bed with him and Mingyu, being the other half of her parent-teacher conferences for the most part because Mingyu's projects never proffer flexible schedules like his. He pictures her becoming too shy when running into other kids in the apartment building, running back to him because the language doesn't speak well from her tongue yet. He pictures futile attempts to lull her to sleep because giggles under the blankets, scooting further away from Mingyu when he grumbles about waking up late in the morning, can't fuse any logic into the dark hours when the three of them are together.

With Mingyu, he pictures not falling asleep in a lonely bed anymore, someone to confide to and be confided to just fingertips away, whether it's across the mattress or through the phone, not many miles away, barely any words passing through receivers. He pictures tripping on shoes that aren't his own on the way into the apartment because work must have worn Mingyu out into a frayed thread to bother arranging them back on the shoe rack. Perhaps most of his days end with walking into his apartment, only to hear nothing because Seoyeon's homework occupies too much of their willpower to speak anything else beyond the worksheets. He pictures someone to stand with on stable ground when things get too rough at work or from across the ocean. He pictures reminders of taking care of himself, despite promising he would do that himself, because sometimes, doing things for oneself alone is harder.

But most of all, he pictures having a life with Mingyu, with Seoyeon, with Mingyu and Seoyeon.

It's a big decision he has to make, one he holds close to his heart. So he juxtaposes it with the thought of living his life without Mingyu, without Seoyeon, and without Mingyu and Seoyeon, and he doesn't delve into the surface of it for his heart to hold his hand, tug him back towards the other direction.

In the end, each decision revolving around Seoyeon dwindles down to Jihye. He can't just eraser her out of Seoyeon's life in a bat of an eye, even when Jihye did so herself. He wants Mingyu and Seoyeon to open up for closure with Jihye first before anything, even if it means it might take a long while to get there. But maybe they won't get it, balancing out the facts that Jihye calls out of nowhere and they haven't seen her in a long time. Curdling everything back up from dormant remnants of the past may not be the best for everyone.

He makes up his mind to trail his heart to where it wants to be and maybe, it might be the same place as where he's meant to be.

 

 

A couple hours later, Wonwoo hesitates to answer Mingyu's call, but he does. He does with the note of talking to Seoeon, sending her to sleep for them to talk again. His sigh this time weighs more than the drag of his shoulders closer to the table when he asks, "You heard it, didn't you?"

Wonwoo nods, admits he heard everything up to that one question. His fingers skitter on the table, and he's worried what Mingyu has to say about this because sure, Seoyeon wants that, but is that what Mingyu wants, too?

He inhales deep, shuts his lips together, only to stutter out an exhale. His eyes avoid anywhere up to the camera when he nods slow, and the silence drowns Wonwoo in. "You don't-you don't have to, um-"

"I want to," Wonwoo barely breathes, and there's nothing more he wants right now. Because being by Mingyu's side, he first has to be by Seoyeon's. His single reply burns the anxiety back into his system when Mingyu chances a glance up and all he sees are the glints at his eyes, at the tears brimming and ready to spill at a bare blink. "But if you don't want t-"

Mingyu smiles, blinks once and the tear drops, confesses of course, he does, he really does, and Wonwoo breathes out a dream into his fingertips. "Does that mean you'd be okay when she calls you her dad?"

A hand secures for his cheek, elbow on the table, and his heart flutters at the reverie of Seoyeon actually calling him her dad, and it's when all three of them are perfectly content with it. Maybe Seoyeon might not even call him dad, might resort to using the same name she reserves for Mingyu. It will confused the both of them and maybe all of them, questioning which one she's calling out to and having both of them turn around at the same time, but it will be okay.

"It might take a while to get used to, but I'll love it."

It will be more than okay.

\----

A second cup of hot chocolate winds its way back to his hands after Teresa opens the door and short arms bound for Wonwoo's waist, after he pats Julian's palms at the small of his back to kneel down and hug his shoulders, allows Julian to sink a winter-nipped cheek against his neck. The clouds still linger in the junction between winter and spring, and he helps Julian peel off the raincoat and drape it over the backrest of his chair. He welcomes Julian onto his lap all the same, drawing on the same notepad from her previous appointments and sipping on the paper cup, as he traces down another and a third paragraph of vows.

"You must really be a good father if you can get Julian to open up to you so quickly," she snickers as she nods to her son. "He's kind of shy."

Wonwoo shakes his head, admits that he was shy, too, when he was younger. "I still kind of am."

 

 

In between packing his laptop into his bag and heading to his car, he swipes green button for Mingyu's call, and Seoyeon greets him with the bird nest of her hair, squinting the bright screen too early into her morning hours. He watches Mingyu lean into her ear, whisper something out to her, and it startles a tiny "Uncle Wo-Daddy," coaxes endearing bits of laughter into their hearts for her first time calling him that.

Mingyu bounces her on his lap, says it's okay, "We just need time."

He wraps his arms around Seoyeon from behind, moves forward to bury his face in her hair and laughs more into the jungle of strands. Seoyeon giggles, coiling up and away from his face, because "It tickles so much."

But among the laughter tumbling from his phone and Seoyeon wriggling her way out of range from a ticklish touch, Wonwoo rewinds the sound in his mind, wants to ask her to repeat it, when her smile casts off the whites of her eyes and opens up to the whites of her teeth even brighter. He wants to hear her voice saying those words with his own ears, without the uncertainty of ringing up at the wrong hours of the night or the misery of leaving, but a yawn stifles into her system and she sniffs, doubles into a cough.

Mingyu picks her up like a feather, perching her on his hip and carrying her off the camera. The water goes off,  _plink_  of the stream into a mug, and when they come back, Seoyeon holds the cup with two hands and a bitter taste twisting her lips and brows closer to her nose. Wonwoo's chuckle at the lip-smacking grimace and Mingyu plucking the strands from her lips don't leave much room for words, for doubts of where everything will take them.

And Wonwoo knows they'll really be okay.

\----

Perhaps it's the change of seasons, spring offering occasional sunshine indulging into every corner of his apartment, raindrops yearning for each crease of his notebook and planner through the glass. It might be slipping down the stairs and lowering the heater between the four walls and burrowing all the content of his heart into the jacket Mingyu left behind, tucked between his own jackets in a drawer that needs some dusting one day.

In the mornings, a weight at his chest doesn't wake him up anymore, no looming hunch of having done something wrong or doing something wrong later in the day. His ringtone sparks the sleep out of his eyes before his alarm, to voicemails of Seoyeon calling out to him, void of the word "uncle" or his actual name, and sometimes, she calls out and Mingyu answers her, instead. His apartment sheds less lonesome layers as the sun warms him up with the sounds of his phone.

When Mingyu greets him through the pixels, he can't suppress the smile from his face. Sometimes, it's not always a smile, though. With frustrating clients at either ends of their jobs, their offices, there isn't much they can start talking about other than releasing out those frustrations, consolation of not having to see the same people once the vows sealed into forever and projects build themselves from the ground-up.

But one day, it's Wonwoo clicking relentless at his pen, teeth gritted for the client demanding faster vows without a speck of consideration for his other appointments in the day, for other clients who never let their patience run dry for the perfect vows. Any other business would charge a rush fee, but Wonwoo exhales harsh between his teeth, plasters a smile on the verge of splitting skin at his lips, and declines the client's offer for a few more extra bills into his pocket if it meant he'll shut up and leave his office. When he calls Mingyu, he apologizes for waking him up so early on his day off, but Mingyu shakes his head, smiles the sleep at his eyes, and tells him it's okay.

With Mingyu at the bottom corner of his screen as he types, mouths words out to himself, it's a quiet comfort hearing Mingyu sneeze into his palms that eventually blends in with Seoyeon greeting him a good morning and slurring words of an English song. Their morning subsides to taps of his stylus on the tablet once breakfast plates and morning mugs hang on drying racks. It soothes the wrinkles of his forehead, loosens the grip on the pen, and releases his fist at the desk to hear Seoyeon mumble numbers, sound out vowels, the presence of Mingyu and Seoyeon without having to send them across the world to be physically there with him.

When he closes out the document, fishes out a sigh amidst the frown, Mingyu mentions something he never considered before, "You only have one day off, but it's not really a day off." The tapping stops and his eyes float down to the tablet one more time before zoning all his attention to his camera.

"Yeah, Sunday is my only day off," Wonwoo nods through, barely shares a thought of where this conversation is supposed to be going.

The clicks of the stylus flat on the table echo. "Have you considered adding another?"

It won't hurt him that bad, he believes; it might actually be better for him in the long run. Even Sundays push him on edge, tiptoes over the worries of editing vows from Saturday and peering at his planner for what Monday will present him through the door. He promises to think about it, maybe ask Mariano first before finalizing anything.

"It'll catch up to you later," Mingyu adds on, picking his stylus back up. "I never realized how much you work until you told me you had to talk to a client on a  _Sunday_."

He revels through the last time he truly offered himself two days off in a week--not because he needed time to recover from jet lag, not because his immune system brought its guards down, not because he couldn't keep a stable grasp at what life shoved at him. Since his first day in the business, he never really gave himself more than one day off in a week of his regular schedule, and he thinks it will be hard to get used to, with unproductivity waiting for him to fail and crawl back into the lifestyle Mingyu just warned him against.

\----

Wonwoo beats the clock and his schedules before six, sliding his planner into his bag, when his phone rings with Mingyu's name. When he answers, a sniff shrinks into his ears and Wonwoo asks what happened, if Seoyeon is there right now. Mingyu's voice curls up in a ball when he says he'll be dropping her off to school in an hour, asks if he can call him again later, because "Jihye left a voicemail and she wants to see Seoyeon. I think I'll agree to it this time, but I don't know."

  
Once the hour is up and Wonwoo slips into his bed, he calls Mingyu this time, asks if he still wants to talk about it. As much as he wants to fully be there for him, there's an unpleasant pool at his stomach, the awkwardness of talking about Jihye and knowing the pain Mingyu and Seoyeon went through. It starts pooling even more when he tries to hold in the bitterness in because it's for the best for Mingyu right now. He's not sure if he wants to cry with Mingyu or peel back each corner of Korea on the map if it means finding Jihye.

But Mingyu's sob crashes into his ears when he says he called Jihye again about it and "she started crying and apologizing for everything and she said to forget she asked. She thinks she can't do it. She hung up on me,  _again_. And I think I have to tell her soon that you're a big part of her daughter's life now. I mean, I know I don't talk to Jihye anymore and she's never around, but I think she has the right to know."

Despite the sound of " _her_  daughter" overtaking his ears, in a bigger part of him, he agrees. He takes in a deep breath, tells himself not to be so immature about this, about Seoyeon still genetically and legally Jihye's daughter. But Mingyu is right; Jihye should now. "If you want, if it's easier, I can tell her."

"I can't do that, Wonwoo," exasperated, as if it's the last thing Mingyu would do, even if it means another gasp for air when he's drowning, and Mingyu's voice carries the burden of everything. "That's just  _wrong_  and rude."

Wonwoo's mind steps back to grasp the view of the situation, how awful it really is for him to tell Jihye that he's part of the lives of her ex-husband and daughter more than she is.

"If I tell her, maybe I'll arrange something for her to see Seoyeon." But it ruins the entire call, and Mingyu sobs even harder when he wonders aloud what Seoyeon would think. "I fucked up, Wonwoo. Why did I tell Seoyeon that she might not even see her mother again?"

"We never know what will happen," Wonwoo assures him softly, wishing to reach through the call and hold Mingyu's hand, maybe hold Mingyu's face in his hands. "When was the last time you saw Jihye?" Mingyu spits a date years ago, almost a year after the divorce, after she moved to Incheon and custody wore them to a bare thread. Wonwoo sighs at how long it really has been since they last saw each other. "See? It's been long and, I know it's sad to think so, but it's understandable to think she wouldn't show up again."

The topic of Jihye never ventured far in the past years he's been talking to Mingyu and he's not sure how to approach it. He was never close to Jihye when he was around when she was around, the last of those moments in the wedding, and he never saw her after she and Mingyu married. He's not even sure what happened before the divorce happened, for it to happen, and he believes if he knew a little more, maybe he would get a better perspective of how to hold a better conversation with Mingyu about his ex-wife. But his mind is struck in the middle because even if he wants to do something to help Mingyu, he's not really sure what he can do to help, if there's anything, really, he can do at all.

Words etch away from his tongue when he tries to conjure up something to tell Mingyu, but all his brain wires up is the wish that Seungcheol is here, too, to tell Mingyu some words that will fill the silence, hollow out the cries from Mingyu's lips.

He stays on the line for Mingyu, anyway. He asks what he can do for him and to be honest with it. With Mingyu's brutal honesty, his "I don't know, either," he relaxes into his bed when Mingyu asks for mere company.

It's a quiet "Thank you, Wonwoo" that recedes through the lines and he doesn't allow another word to pass when Mingyu sniffs, exhales the confusion out.

He asks about Mingyu's work, if he's supposed to be heading to the office soon, because that's what his schedule usually permits for his days. He answers that he was supposed to inspect the land, but the client had an emergency and the call falls flat again.

"Do you really want to tell Jihye?" ignites the silence but not by much.

"I should," shuffles of the receiver, "there's no way around it."

They sit in the mute, Wonwoo wondering how Mingyu would go about telling Jihye when, for all he knows, they haven't had a proper conversation in years. He narrows down his options, from having Soonyoung or Jihoon or Junhui tell Jihye themselves and bringing Seoyeon along.

But his options wear out thin when he hears Mingyu's voice tremble and shove a cry back into his throat, "I'm sorry, Wonwoo."

"For what?"

"For...for all of this."

"Don't be sorry," Wonwoo assures him, threads his fingers into his pillows and thinks Mingyu wouldn't mind holding his hand from this angle if he was right beside him.

"I'll go talk to her," shakes defeated into his ears. "I don't know how I'll do it, though."

He considers it too much to bear with his idea of bringing one of their friends along, and he offers a simple, "It's a lot, but I'll be here for you."

Mingyu thanks him again, and Wonwoo whispers a prayer into his sheets that things will turn out for the better.

\----

He doesn't touch his phone to call Mingyu again, though, because he's sure he wouldn't want to bring it up so soon. Drips of messages flow faster than raindrops at his window at this time of the year, curt words to check up on Mingyu, because he learned that he shouldn't leave people unspoken to during these hard times. Space, even from someone he cares about and will be there for, is sometimes needed, and Mingyu gave that to him when he needed it. It's only right and fair to return it.

Mingyu doesn't have to reply to him right away or at all, and he leaves that note at every few messages he does send. The glowing checkmark that says Mingyu read the message is enough, the tiny "Thank you" after each string of hopeful words is nice, too, and the "I love you" from both of them lets them know that they can pull through this.

\----

Wonwoo flips a page at his calendar by the time Mingyu calls him again. His phone lights up with a trilling call, but it's only Mingyu's voice that greets him. It's a mere, "I told her you've been a big part of Seoyeon's life the past three years."

"What did she say?"

"She said she's happy for her" is monotone, swallowed up by an unsteady inhale, "and I asked if she wanted to see Seoyeon."

Wonwoo's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach when Mingyu whispers, "She cried. I don't know if she wants to see her anymore."

Despite not hearing an actual answer from Jihye, Wonwoo tells him he's proud of Mingyu for even calling her because it must have taken a lot in him to do that. Even if Jihye has good intentions to see Seoyeon, it might not be the right time for the two of them.

He doesn't ask about Jihye, thinking it will bring up unpleasant memories back. they stay on the line and for the first time, he asks if Mingyu wants to talk about it. It's a "No, I really don't" that doesn't bite at Wonwoo. Sometimes, it's really not better to let it out; there are still some things that are hard to open up about and they need something stronger than time, even if it's with Mingyu.

\----

"When I moved to New York, the first place I went to see was Central Park," the woman in front of him starts. Her name on the computer barely matches up with the name printed on her license, not that he asked to see it. She admits to booking the appointment when she was nowhere close to the border of somewhat sober and sounding out "Chloe" resulted in "Klowee" that started her hour with the debate of English phonetics and wondering where the "h" came from in her name.

The wonderings of where the "h" derives from pauses at Wonwoo's first visit to Central Park, of his first reactions to stepping into the park where many films dragged their camera crew to get a shot of the city from the greens or many singers belted their lungs to the sky, twirling melodies of the fields and lakes. His fond, naive memories of New York sheds a soft smile on his face because Central Park is the first place he stopped by when he finished moving everything into his apartment, and he's glad he's not the only one.

Her hands span out in front of her, cups the air when she talks about winding her way to Bethesda Fountain until she stopped in the middle of the pathway and steered towards the side railings. She focused her energy on rough sketches of pedestrians--regulars wanting nothing to do with the cameras or tourists reenacting famous movie scenes and their mutual eavesdropping of passersby, "You think people will mind if we sing 'That's How You Know' over there?"

"Someone ran past me and I looked up to this weirdo chasing a falling leaf. She was so excited to grab it and she was laughing all the time that I started drawing her without meaning to." Her lips fall silent flat at the memory, taking bands of her light brown hair and wrapping them around her face, covers her lips as if the strands will barricade any words through.

Wonwoo smiles, assures her that it's alright and "Things obviously worked out after that."

"I didn't notice I was kind of laughing with her until she caught the leaf. She went up to me and asked  _me_  if  _I_  caught a leaf. I told her no, but I caught a drawing of her catching the leaf." She shrugs, lips pursed to bask in a thought Wonwoo isn't sure he should ask about. She sits there to soak in their first meeting that led to infinite meetings afterwards. Something about this appointment--it might have been curling her hair around her face or the fact that they both stepped into the same places after taking a whiff of New York air--that makes him think New York might not be has bad as it seems sometimes. "Yeah, New York City is romanticized in everything, but it really did feel like a movie when I first met her."

 

 

Mingyu groans about pulling Seoyeon out of daycare soon because the age limit is reaching too close to her birth certificate. The after school program is left as the only option, "but it'll just be another daycare for her, except she'll see more kids from her class." He shakes his head, twirls the pen at his hand, and the next part is low, almost mumbling, "Her current daycare is closer to my work, though."

Mingyu humbles his voice to numbers at the screen, fills out an application without asking Wonwoo anything, but something prods at his palate.

"Is it okay if I pay for some of her daycare?" Wonwoo proposes once Mingyu scrolls own enough to find the costs, shatters the scowl at his face. Mingyu shakes his head, says he can't do that to him, but Wonwoo scoffs, asks why not, and the words "She's like my daughter," spills too quickly for him to gather them into a back corner of his mind. He blinks away from the camera, from Mingyu's corner of the screen, and he hesitates to look up because what Mingyu says next might hurt him or both of them. He's just rushing through this, he chides himself.

But Mingyu smiling even bigger, eyes softening and pen stopping at  _my daughter_ , glints at his eyes when he glances up from the papers at those words, serenades a sigh into his ears that's barely worn out. And this time, the weight at his chest doesn't revisit him, no looming jab that he said the wrong words, and he just hopes he can say it more in the future.

Mingyu's lips barely move around the topic of Jihye paying for child support already,  _still_  paying for child support each month, and how it's been the reason why he never worried about snapping his bank account in half. Wonwoo sulks deeper into his seat, but his hope revives when Mingyu thanks him for the offer, anyway.

The smile still doesn't knock off Mingyu's face when Wonwoo pulls up a calculator to figure out the costs, how much he can send over every  _week_. He mumbles about fees from sending money internationally, forgetting the numbers even if he still sends money to his parents. It takes a small string for Mingyu to tell him that it's fine, it's really okay, that he doesn't have to send anything over.

"I just wish you were here," is something Wonwoo's not sure if he was supposed to hear or not.

Before the conversation spirals into an abyss of not being there, regrets of not being there long enough, Mingyu mentions taking over one project to renovate the waiting areas in Gwangju station. He mentions possibly, hopefully crossing paths with Yerin and Bohyuk as the project progresses to completion, perhaps bringing Seoyeon along with him at any chance he robs because the couple won't stop messaging him for pictures and updates of Seoyeon.

It all cuts off when Seoyeon walks up besides Mingyu, mentions about a friend going to the after school program and how "He gets help in his homework and finishes it all before he goes home."

Mingyu kisses the top of her head before she waves her hands at Wonwoo and returns to her seat at the kitchen table behind him. "She's growing up too fast," Mingyu pouts with the longing of time to go back and reach out for the Seoyeon of now to hold much longer than infinity.

Wonwoo chuckles because there are bigger shoes she has to grow into, so "You have to let her."

But he knows, they know that they both want to keep Seoyeon at this age much longer than what time of the universe permits.

 

 

When Wonwoo drops his bag off into his apartment, he sits at the rooftop in the lapse when clouds pity the city and rain halts for an hour. He pulls up his phone, captures down below and up above, and the reflection of the stars onto the city is something, he realizes then, he will never get used to. These lights dotting up a billion and one pixels on his phone screen are for people and there are just so many of them.

When a drop distorts his glasses and a corner of a skyscraper lights up brighter and botched, he heads back inside. He decides it's an early night when he leaves his phone on the counter, heads straight for the shower, and not long after, he drapes his towel on the headboard. His pillows won't mind drying his hair in his sleep.

\----

When he settles at his desk for a full day of scheduling, calling up clients and confirming their schedules, he sneaks a picture of his office for Bohyuk after his mind poked him with his father's asking for more pictures. Rain meanders at his window in a slow waltz to the sills and drops inklings of blurs on restaurant lights, open signs, chandeliers across the street. Captures of his view from the desk and view from the client's seat, he saves the picture of his wall--starting from the weddings he attended and snapshots of the ceremonies, his family, his friends, his friends' families, pieces of Wonwoo that other clients picked up after their wedding day. Postcards, steals of honeymoons and first days of marriage, handwritten vows tacked up across the walls and typed vows aged into wrinkling papers.

Maybe he'll organize them one day.

He accepts in a couple people who ventured knocking on his door, dismissing their apologies once they realize his sign showcases a closed office  _after_  walking into his office and asking if he can help them.

In the space between the last person he talks to and the last person he schedules into his appointments, he props his phone up against his laptop and answers Mingyu's call. Seoyeon sits at the desk this time and she scowls into the clipboard holding a worksheet in front of her, pencil tucked at her ear like that old habit Mingyu once carried but dropped faster than the pencils. When the call picks up and the camera focuses, Seoyeon's head lowers a slight but she peeks around, her head shoots up, and the pencil disappears from her ear with a few knocks on hardwood.

She smiles up at the camera and the greeting of "Hi, Daddy" can't punch the smile off his face. He barrels in his first usual questions of if she ate already, did something happen, it must be really early at her side of the sun. She pouts her lips and her explanation of forgetting one homework assignment for today and wanting to ask for help because "I think you know it better than Daddy" squeezes a snort from his nose.

"What do you need help on?"

"Wait, Seoyeon," Mingyu interrupts once he steps into the call and waves at him, returns to batting his hands against a kitchen towel, "if you needed help with English homework, why didn't you call Uncle Hansol, too? He lives fifteen minutes away."

Wonwoo starts clearing up his desk to make room for Seoyeon's homework, anyway. Besides his notepad to affix random appointments, scrambles of last-minute notes of a client, he slides a second notepad for her homework. He even puts out a second pen for her troubles of finishing to the period or question mark, correcting the mess of letters or arrangement of words. He doesn't mind doing this at all, his brain switching from appointments to Seoyeon's homework. It drops a burden because he won't be staring at the hours and dates for hours and most of his day here.

"It's because Uncle Hansol tells me funny stories and when he does, I have to tell a funny one back, but I don't know what," she answers, eyes trained on her homework in front of her, tilting her head to the side, as if the spelling changes if she turns the page at an odd angle.

"What was the story?" Wonwoo asks, and he watches Mingyu pull up a second chair besides her and lean in closer to listen to her story.

"You, Daddy, and all the uncles had Uncle Hansol on your phone cases," she says, tapping the eraser end at her cheek. "I thought it was fake, but he showed me a picture and he looked funny. Or funky. He told me funky is a nice word." Seoyeon starts spelling out the word but the extra "c" added to the wrong spot shocks something out of him and Mingyu to get her to stop spelling the word.

The story kindles their fond university memories, how odd but genius it was to print Hansol's face onto their phones and even open up a fake shop to sell them to students. They tore down the website, though, when someone sent each of them an email, inquiring about when the phone cases will really be up for sale and if buying in bulk would be possible. He remembers the faux-promotions of these phone cases, the questioning quirk of his professor's eyebrow when he barely picked up his phone off the desk, and the cackles from the seat beside him when he did.

He scrolls to a picture from his laptop with the phone case, a frame of hiding his face behind a black mask to showcase the beauty of Hansol's without one. Instead, it's purple sunglasses and a highlighter-yellow beanie. The picture chokes something in Seoyeon for a gasp before completely laughing her lungs out, off the screen, and Mingyu leans even closer, smiles at the phone case.

Mingyu smirks. "I think I still have the phone case somewhere."

"Can I have it, Daddy?"

\----

His office door echoes a round of knocks as he files away the vows from the client that just bid him goodbye and a container of chocolate chip cookies. He glances at the time on his clock then to his planner, where it informs him that his next appointment shouldn't be at his door for, at least, another twenty minutes. He's about to stand up and open the door when Chloe peers her forehead in, glimpse from the corner of her eye. He welcomes her inside tells her to sit down after she apologizes for coming in early and after he apologizes for not organizing his desk fast enough.

A sketchbook hangs from her fingertips, and maybe today is the day she will show him the first drawing from a couple years ago.

It's how she walks in with hesitation at her heels and doubts at her toes, closes the door behind her with a "I hope you don't find this creepy" that has him listing possibilities in his head that can finish that single sentence. "I followed your car, so I know where you live," "I know Kim Mingyu and Kim Seoyeon," "I memorized your license plate," "You smell like coffee and you're probably addicted to it."

Each one of his guesses are crossed off from the list when she opens the sketchbook halfway from the spine and slides it over his desk. He spins in his chair and traces the familiar outlines to his wall, to a picture thumbtacked somewhere. His eyes match the picture to one of him with Mingyu and Seoyeon at Central Park, Seoyeon's cheek pressed up to Wonwoo's and Mingyu standing behind them with ice cream cones in the air and the generous gesture of awaiting fall powdering pinks at their noses and cheeks.

He wonders how she can capture the gaps between Seoyeon's teeth, the near-missing mole on Mingyu's nose, and how one of his eyes is narrower than the other. He glances at the shadows behind them, stretched and blurred in perfect alignment with the actual picture.

"How did you do this?" Wonwoo gapes when he takes in the wrinkles and folds of his jacket, the sparks in Seoyeon's eyes, and Mingyu's canines slightly poking into the banks of his lips. "Your appointment wasn't even that long. How can you remember all of this?"

But she offers him a mere shrug. "It's hard to forget a family picture like yours."

The answer slips his heart relaxing between the gasp in his lungs, gives way too easily, because he never thought he looked like he was part of a  _family_  picture that includes Seoyeon and Mingyu, no matter how much he wants it to happen. He smiles down at the picture once more, plays Seoyeon's giggles and the pats of her sneakers hitting the pavement that very day.

He thanks her for drawing something so beautiful. When she takes the sketchbook back to carefully tear the page out, his fingertips are the only parts of his body that touch the drawing, as if the world just handed him the most fragile piece to exist.

Long after her appointment should have started and pens should be writing for her wedding in a three months, he tries to distance his eyes from the drawing. He apologizes a second time for starting later than what she scheduled for, but she shakes her head and forgives him that there's nothing to be sorry for and to forgive at all. "I wanted to thank you for helping me the first time."

Wonwoo shakes his head, offers that's what he's here for. "How big is this page? Are there frames that fit this size?" he spews without a thought, noting that a couple teeth captured in the sketch are no longer in Seoyeon's gums.

She raises her eyebrows around a, "Oh, you don't have to frame it" and "Just taping it up there, like your other pictures, is fine."

But Wonwoo says that this takes more time than a picture, smiles once more at the page, and admits that calling it a family picture means a lot to him.

 

 

He never realizes his phone drained its battery in the midst of the appointment, forgetting to plug it in the middle of the day. Before his last client of the night, he gets it charging and when it reaches enough battery to sustain a few read messages, he pulls up a voicemail from Mingyu.

"Hi, Uncle W-Daddy," Seoyeon shies into his hears, and his smile makes him lose sight of the bottoms of his desk.

"It's okay, Seoyeon," Mingyu's voice softens in understanding, a little farther away than her's. "If you're not used to calling him that yet, you can still call him Uncle Wonwoo. I think he'll understand."

"Okay. I miss the stories you tell me before I sleep, Uncle Wonwoo. I started writing a story and I drew it in a book. I want to tell you the story, but not now. Daddy told me it's not nighttime there and you might still be working, but that's okay. I have school later and before I sleep, maybe I can tell you the story.

"Daddy's in the kitchen right now. He said he misses you and-what? He said for me to tell you to eat dinner. That's weird; it's nighttime there and daytime here.

"I don't know what else to say because it's only me talking. I have to get ready for school. I love you, Daddy. Remember my story later!"

He wonders if he can save the voicemail forever and before the idea loses itself from his memory, he jots it down on a sticky note. When he calls Mingyu back, the call goes straight to voicemail and he checks the time, notices that it's the hours Mingyu's usually trapped in his office, and he leaves his own message for him.

"Mingyu, I just got Seoyeon's message. I'd love to hear her story soon. If she really wants to tell it to me at nighttime, I'll wait for her." Wonwoo chuckles at the ball of cuteness that is Seoyeon. He remembers Mingyu's reminders about eating and his mind takes him to a couple hours ago, of making plans with Sam and a new dress consultant at her floor, the plans of driving the two of them to eat dinner during their break and after Wonwoo finishes. He doesn't know where they'll be going, yet, because he agreed to take them somewhere without deciding where or what they'll be eating. "I'm almost done with work for the day, so I'll be eating somewhere with Sam and a new guy. I'll make sure to take a picture for you."

His tongue runs dry for any other words. How does Seoyeon talk so naturally?

"I guess that's it," is plain, but he really doesn't know what else to say. He ponders the next part and it teeters shy from his lips. "I love you both," and spits out the next part for his blush to forget what he just said, "See you later, maybe."

 

 

After he makes it home, he pats his stomach on the way up to the elevator because he's not sure if his body can keep everything he's eaten contained. It's late in the morning at Seoyeon's side of the Pacific and he hopes he can hear her story soon.

\----

An apology from Mingyu revives the smirk on his face when he opens his messages and  _We fell asleep watching Beauty and the Beast_. He might have to wait the story for another night, but he replies that it really isn't something to worry about.

 

 

"Wonwoo," his mother calls him against a whip of wind. Perhaps she strolls outside, taking the morning walk with his father or warning the neighbor's kids to not run too fast, to not risk tripping their feet down the stairs. "You should ask Mingyu and Seoyeon to come to Changwon soon."

"For what?" he asks, but he has no problem asking them to visit his home, since his mother wrote that they do visit sometimes.

"The cherry blossom festival is on Mingyu's birthday," his mother answers, and he imagines the same arch of her eyebrows to persuade himself into her decision. "Your dad and I want them to see it."

"I'll ask them and if he says no, then you can ask him," he teases his mother, and the light laughter tumbling into his ears eases its journey down to his chest. "I'm sure Mingyu would say yes to you and Dad."

But he wonders why his parents want Mingyu and Seoyeon to go there now. Did something happen? Do they miss Seoyeon that much? Even though he wishes he's there with them, he'd love to hear how Mingyu and Seoyeon would enjoy their time with his family, even after the gap of years before his first visit.

In between their talks about the meals she'll cook for Seoyeon, her words painting the image of Mingyu bumping shoulders with her as they trade spots from the counter and the stove, fridge and sink, sliding the cutting board and passing each other spatulas and ladles, his ears perk up at his father's suggestion of having the two sleep over.

"We can drive to Jinhae on Mingyu's birthday," his father adds on after figuring out how to change the phone call to a video call. He frowns at his own face on his father's glasses, zoomed up to only capture the crease between his eyebrows above his glasses. He listens to the window shut somewhere off, slicing the muffle of the wind dead. His father pulls out his own phone, tilts his head back, and sticks a finger out to scroll through the screen. "Bohyuk, how do you look up directions?"

When he's about to tell his father that they haven't  _asked_  Mingyu if he can come, he dumps the idea and calls out to Bohyuk shaking the sleep from his hair. He thinks if this is for Mingyu's birthday, he should try to do something for it, despite the distance. His mind lights up to the bakery near his old home and all the days he and Bohyuk sneaked a pink box into their door and behind their backs when calendars approached Parents' Day, their mother's or father's birthdays. He bothers Bohyuk to pick up a cake for Mingyu from that bakery because he thinks Mingyu really can't say no to his parents.

"I haven't seen you smile like that since we last saw you," his mother's voice teases without a sight of her. He shakes his head, buries his face in his hands to hide the heat at his cheeks, and nothing stops his heart from beating out of his chest.

He groans when his mother starts to coo, but he doesn't escape the embarrassment just yet because his mother seems to be loving this and he doesn't exactly want to stop her moment of joy. When her voice dims down through the stove and slides of metal, he asks if he can talk to Bohyuk. With Bohyuk squinting the sunlight away, after his groans of their mother opening the kitchen curtains to a blinding degree, he asks if he can pick up a cake for Mingyu when he visits Changwon.

It robs the sleep from his eyes better than the blaring alarm Wonwoo wanted to smash when they used to share rooms. Bohyuk drops his hand all at once, blinks hard at the screen. "Does that mean we can see Seoyeon?" Wonwoo rolls his eyes, reminds him that Mingyu is coming, too, and Mingyu has to come if it's for  _his_  birthday. "Is it alright if Yerin comes over, too? She always tells me she misses Seoyeon and she can drive from Gwangju."

Wonwoo shrugs, doesn't give much thought to it, because he's fine with anything as long as Bohyuk picks up the cake for Mingyu's birthday. The call shudders down to pot snares and spoon clangs, to Bohyuk tracing something on his face after his eyes accustomed to morning light. "What?" Wonwoo spits blank, probing the silence and wanting to break the probing of Bohyuk's eyes at every move that reflects off.

"Nothing."

"Tell me," Wonwoo demands with a grin. "Tell me or I won't ask Mingyu and Seoyeon to come over."

Bohyuk tilts his head back, curdles a whine of really wanting to see Seoyeon after so long. He sulks, eyebrows falling flat in playful annoyance. It reminds him of Chan and maybe it's because they're born one year apart that they have this similar habit. "That's unfair, Wonwoo, you can't do this."

"I will if you don't tell me."

He tips his head and chances a peek up at the camera, casts them back down and bats his eyelashes slow and steady. His jaws work out the words, and he allows his brother to take as much time as he needs. When he secures his eyes back up to the screen, the words "I'm happy for you and Mingyu" sends another heatwave at his face, but he thanks his brother for those words.

Their words simmer down to asking how Yerin is because Wonwoo wishes he can message her somehow, but her work seems much more demanding than his. It sends a heatwave into his brother's own cheeks and he props his chin at his palm, eyes drifting off to the distance in front of him. "Yeah, work has been too much for her lately. I wish I can drive to Gwangju more often to visit her and help around."

"You should," Wonwoo suggests. "Maybe Mom and Dad can spend time with her parents."

Bohyuk grumbles about the long distance of the drive, that their parents might spill carsickness on the way there. "That's what her parents want to do, too, though."

But listening to Bohyuk babble about Yerin, of the possibility of seeing them if they find some stronger motion sickness pills, warms Wonwoo's heart. He shoves back the thought that he could have been talking to Bohyuk like this the whole time he was away from them, instead of working. He could have listened to Bohyuk blush about Yerin, to his stories of a new reason as to why he loves her. His brother matured into someone he can stand right beside and second-guess who really is the oldest between the two. But now, at least, he learns to cherish each moment into his heart, to call up his brother once in a while to reassure his heart that everything is okay. Even with the distance, years stretched into rare calls, Wonwoo is still his older brother and no one can take that away from him.

 

 

For most of his day, he feeds off his laptop, searching for a padded jacket that suits Mingyu in size and style, since he has yet to see Mingyu with a new one after stealing his during his first visit home. The rest of the day, the night takes care of him at the mall, scurrying through messenger bags because Mingyu still carries around his university bag to work. It's practical, that's what Mingyu aims for, since the bag barely suffers with a tear or fading marks, but he thinks he needs something else that can carry his laptop, notebooks, wallet, keys without worrying about covering the entire thing with a plastic bag when rainy season arrives.

He hates having to ask so many questions about a single thing because he can just read the bag to answer them, if the company bothered to print anything past the price tag. He must be bothering the worker wandering in loops, but he just wants to be sure.

"Is it waterproof?"

"How much weight can it hold?"

"Does this come in different colors?"

"Are there smaller pockets inside?"

 

 

After ringing him up, Wonwoo never knew a store four times as big as his office exists for the sole purpose of greeting cards. He starts from the birthday corner, wandering his wonders if Mingyu will appreciate something on the funny side this year. He snorts at the card that opens up to a bland black on white  _Fun Fact of the Day: The more birthdays you have, the longer you live._

And maybe it's leafing through each and every birthday card in the store that concerns the cashier in the front, has her walking up to him and asking if he needs help figuring out which cards are perfect for the occasion. He checks the time on the clock over the counter and twenty minutes abandons him cardless in the same aisle, chuckling at the messages and occasionally squeezing the hands of plushies staring down at him from the shelves above.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Wonwoo admits he's not sure. He doesn't know if he'll be going for something that sends Mingyu's eyes screwing shut but opening his lips to laughter or something that captures his attention down to memory of a single pencil stroke. "Oh, who is it for?"

His entire system freezes up at that question because he hasn't asked Mingyu what they really are, if they really need to call themselves something. They're most-likely past friends; they've been there for more than a decade now. The "I love you" must mean something else. He stutters around the label of "significant other," and stutters even more around the idea of a print with scenery or buildings, just to push the first answer aside as the cashier grins and excuses herself to look for cards that Wonwoo might be looking for.

When she returns with a flush of cards, still wrapped in plastic, he tells her they're perfect. With refraction-melts of purple and blue of itself across the strip of water, the Taj Mahal bathes in white. He says he'll take it and the cashier whips out another set of Big Ben, Statue of Liberty, Sydney Opera House. He asks for one of the Sydney Opera House for next time, or maybe just for himself to tape up at his office.

 

 

Wonwoo's thumb hovers over Mingyu's name because the question wracking up a storm in the card store still won't rest at bay. His thoughts drown him in what his parents would say if he told them about Mingyu. With his father advising him that one time to talk to Mingyu, that he  _and_  Mingyu will be okay after discussing everything that bothered their days, he thinks his father will accept it. There were no harsh words, no denial of Wonwoo's feelings or anything that would crush his soul.

On the other hand, his mother is the one suggesting Mingyu and Seoyeon to come over. Wonwoo would have never thought of inviting them over to Changwon if he wasn't there already. It might be because she wants Seoyeon to see the cherry blossoms, to experience the heart of the festival for the first time and treasure the memory with her as she gets older. He thinks it's also because his mother really loves Seoyeon, like a granddaughter of her own.

Either way, he hopes his parents won't sigh of disappointment but at the same time, doubt creeps up and the chances that it won't go well seem to overtake his hopes. His parents love him; he knows that, he  _feels_  that, but he doesn't know what they will say or why he thinks it won't go well.

\----

Wonwoo bids a goodbye to his last client of the day when his phone crawls from the edge of his planner and to the table with a hard plop.

_19:32_  
**_Mingyu_  **  
_Your parents are asking me to go to Changwon_  
_Did you have anything to do with this_

_19:33_  
**_Wonwoo_  **  
_I don't know what you're talking about :)_

\----

Messages evaporate throughout the week and once it runs a stream back, Wonwoo ends his day with a picture from Bohyuk. He doesn't think much of it before he opens it but when he does, nothing can prepare him for a picture of his old room. He never would have expected a picture of Mingyu in his old sweatpants and baggy shirt, sitting at his old bed with Seoyeon perched at his toes. He wouldn't have guessed a picture of sunlight bathing them in home, in warmth of his old home, and his mind fools him into playing the picture into motion. His mind hears Mingyu drying her hair, rustling of the strands in the towel, and the song Seoyeon must be singing from her parted lips and head slightly tilted closer to her shoulder.

It's home in Wonwoo's home.

He wishes he can be there with him, humming along with Seoyeon's song, grasping onto the threats of raindrops on a forecasted cloudless day, laying out his childhood blanket over Seoyeon, only to discover her toes poking out the ends when she straightens her legs out. But having this picture mellows out the longing to be there. As he stashes his laptop to charge and notebooks to welcome lullabies to himself, he wonders what Mingyu and Seoyeon are up to with his family.

 

 

He finishes microwaving leftovers from the bistro he exposed his palate to the first time yesterday with Sam, the one time they tried because a client came into his office straight from work and the threatening sound of an unsatisfied stomach talked more than he and the client combined. He's about to eat at his counter, flip through his planner again, when his laptop springs up a video call. He clicks the green button for Bohyuk's name and the world from the other side unveils a full dining table with Yerin's face poking out from the corner. With Seoyeon at the middle of the screen, she sits between Bohyuk and his mother, and Mingyu sits between his parents. The empty spot between his father and Bohyuk must be for Yerin.

She waves at Wonwoo, turns back to everyone behind her that he accepted the call after he waves back. Everything of Mingyu wrings gentle into his eyes--the slight morning scowl at his face that disappears at the mention of his name, his old shirt fitting his shoulders just fine, and the push of his hair away from his face so his forehead shows and the lines between his eyebrows fade. In the middle of it all, Seoyeon waves her hands in the air, calls out for Uncle Wonwoo, and Bohyuk has a hint of his father's smile on his face as his eyes skim to Seoyeon.

Wonwoo greets Mingyu a happy belated birthday and with a simple "Thank you, Wonwoo" in return, the air doesn't singe quiet at all, no empty moments unless it was to fill their stomachs again. His father reels up about Mingyu bringing a large box of beef and Seoyeon waving an overflowing grocery bag of perilla leaves the night they arrived, which meant digging in the closet for the tabletop grill after so long. His father mentions cards that Seoyeon made for everyone--for his mother and his father, for Bohyuk and Yerin.

Wonwoo's eyes fall onto Seoyeon that instant and he asks if she really did, if Seoyeon really is that nice. Seoyeon smiles small when she curls into his mother's side, buries her face at her arm. She nods against his mother's jacket and his mother opens her arm up, allows Seoyeon to scoot even closer and sink her face into her shoulder.

"She did," his mother affirms, rubbing a slow hand at Seoyeon's arm. "The cards are really pretty, too. Do you want to show them right now to your Uncle Wonwoo?"

Seoyeon shakes her head and it elicits a bout of adoring coos, sprinkled with Bohyuk's suggestion of showing him after they eat or whenever Seoyeon is ready.

Wonwoo eats an early dinner with them and even when they're thousands of miles apart, he doesn't feel that far from the edge of the dinner table. He can't hear every click of the rice cooker open and shut, can't feel the floor tremble as Mingyu pushes the chair back and offers to scoop more rice for his father and Seoyeon, can't smell his mother's seaweed soup at Mingyu's seat, can't clearly catch what Bohyuk whispers into Seoyeon's ear that has her giggling further away from his face, can't turn his head down to the streets freckled in cherry blossom petals with any of them.

But calling them like this, eating with them, despite eating an entirely different meal, he loves laughing with his father when he adds onto Mingyu's embarrassment, of Bohyuk helping Mingyu up after tripping on the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. He loves asking Mingyu if there's any more of his birthday cake left in the fridge and when he says there are only a couple slices left in the box, he smiles at everyone aiming their looks at Seoyeon because "she ate three slices yesterday when she should have been eating rice." He loves hearing Yerin talk about the little girl at her work who still likes to write stories. When Seoyeon hears that, nothing contains the leap of his heart and the corners of his lips when she claims she likes to write stories, too, because "Uncle Wonwoo tells me really good ones before I sleep." He loves teasing Bohyuk about being a fool for Seoyeon and how he never received that kind of love from him growing up.

Bohyuk glares at him. "Seoyeon is different.  _Seoyeon_  is cute and sweet."

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but it subsides with another bout of laughter out of many from this morning alone. Bohyuk pats the seat beside him and tells Yerin to eat. She props the phone at what must be the lone, rickety stool at the end of the table.

His mother asks him what he did today, what time it is there. She asks about the bistro he went to, if he believes there's anything like that in Changwon so they can get a taste of New York City. Wonwoo's mind churns to remember the streets and he thinks there's something like that in Changwon, but he never went inside.

His mother pats Mingyu on his shoulder, says he still has a big appetite. "I remember when Wonwoo took you and Soonyoung here when you were studying. I was so surprised at how much you ate because Wonwoo doesn't eat that much." She turns to Seoyeon, strokes her hair, and hopes Seoyeon will be the same.

At her name, Seoyeon looks up from her bowl, mouth still open and spoon halfway to her mouth. She places the spoon against her bowl and nods her head.

Bohyuk starts laying out the blueprint of the day for them. It's the day they'll be driving to Jinhae to see the cherry blossoms and the entire plan pulls Seoyeon closer to Bohyuk, disregarding her bowl of rice astray. They'll get ready after breakfast and, with one bathroom in this apartment, Mingyu offers to wash the dishes as everyone else washes and dresses up.

Seoyeon pipes up, offers her help, but Bohyuk pats her hair this time, smooths out the strands. "Do you want to?" After she nods a second time, Bohyuk continues on that it will take around an hour to drive there and, using Dad's car, Mingyu can relax.

Wonwoo would love to be there with them, but he's more assured at the idea that his parents, his brother, and Yerin seem to love Mingyu and Seoyeon's company, and that's all he wants more right now.

The call goes on, though, with the phone tilted against the window at the kitchen. Wonwoo watches Mingyu and Bohyuk at the sink, after Yerin tells Seoyeon that she'll help her get ready because the shower is quite scary when the shower head can be pulled off the wall. And the call ends when it's their turn to wash and dress up. Before they hang up, his mother takes the phone away and brings it to the couch in the living room, asks if he's feeling sleepy. He glances at the clock, hour hand not even meeting up with ten yet, and he shakes his head. It must have triggered a yawn somehow; his mother always knows him more than he does.

She suggests going to sleep early, not to stay up too late.

Wonwoo nods, mumbles out an "I miss you" to his mother before she has to go. She echoes the same words, ends it with a second "I miss you a lot, Wonwoo."

But this time, they don't end with tears or a frown. Wonwoo ends the night with a smile against his pillow and something close to a dream he can touch.

\----

Sleep lugs him through a video call request from Bohyuk at six in the morning. He does leave a voicemail about just heading into the apartment and wanting to see if Wonwoo was awake, but he guesses he's not when the call goes unreturned. Bohyuk lets out an airy chuckle in the message because "Seoyeon fell asleep in the car and I tried carrying her to our floor." He ends with a reminder to call him whenever he's free, and Wonwoo messages him a simple goodnight.

He checks the time difference, assumes that midnight throws a blanket of sleep over everyone already. He submerges himself in a quick shower and in the middle of picking out a shirt, he answers Bohyuk's call.

Sitting besides Yerin, they prop against the wall at Bohyuk's bed and Wonwoo asks him how the festival, driving, and eating all went.

"Seoyeon eats everything," is the first thing he says. "We ate at a bistro to try what you ate, and Seoyeon ate an entire plate of asparagus." Bohyuk pouts and Yerin's toes tap to an unsung song. "We couldn't take a lot of pictures in there because the place was small and I'd hit someone if I tried."

Wonwoo and Yerin share a tiny snort after one look at Bohyuk. "They put up rainbow umbrellas over Yeojwa stream and Seoyeon kept pulling my hand to go under," she continues on, leaning more to Bohyuk's shoulder, temple so close to the side of his head and giggles sneaking under her palm. "I think she really loved it."

"We'll send you the pictures." Bohyuk asks about Wonwoo's day and after supplying that it barely started, that he'll be heading to work soon, Yerin excuses them that they'll start going, then. With everyone else asleep, "I can hear Mingyu snore. How does Seoyeon sleep?"

 

 

He greets fingers raking through ruffled hair and Mingyu's eyes blinking the sunlight's sleep away. Lying on his old bed, Mingyu brings his view up and arm higher above the pillow, to allow Seoyeon to lift her head to his shoulder. It's snaps of morning wishes before Wonwoo asks all about the festival and the answer carries Seoyeon's desires to go again. With the pink umbrella, cherry blossom flower crown, cherry blossom pencil case, and a bag printed with the famous bridge, she pipes even more when she adds that "Auntie Yerin bought cow cotton candy and Grandma bought cherry blossom bread."

Mingyu sulks when he asks about their plans for the day, if they'll be riling her desires back up to Jinhae. "We'll be going back to Seoul, since Seoyeon has school tomorrow." He runs a hand over his face, disappointment of leaving trading places with daydreams of coming back. "I wish we can stay here longer."

 

 

Mingyu warms up his Seoul afternoon with a picture holding a jar of rainbow stars and cranes. A note of folding till the brim with Yerin, Seoyeon finished it the morning after they arrived to Changwon, the same morning Bohyuk welcomed his day with mango cake and his father with pamphlets of the festival.

An hour later, he can't count the number of thank you's that Mingyu floods his entire phone screen, sends his phone shrieking with notifications that he has to turn the sound off of he wanted something close to relative serenity as he takes in client after client. His phone loads up a picture of the messenger bag securing Mingyu's laptop and notebooks inside, followed by another string of thank you's that Wonwoo assures him more than enough times already that it's enough.

But the picture he saves is the one of the padded jacket he bought for him. With the black sleeves slumping over short arms, Seoyeon lifts her hands in the air, lips caught in a fret of laughs before being captured in a second. The jacket nearly brushes the hardwood, but they don't seem to mind when Mingyu sends another picture of Seoyeon's foot caught on the jacket and the next one of her eyes searching for prayers of gravity to take sympathy in her.

\----

His fist almost free falls at the idea of knocking on Mariano's door with the doubts that adding another day off would bring too much damage to the shop. But he knocks, anyway, hesitates a good morning at the unease in repose at his throat.

Past their "How have you been?" and "Driving here wasn't too bad today, was it?" once he sits at the desk, he huffs out a nervous "I've been thinking about being open from Mondays and Fridays now." He scratches the back of his head and the feeling of bringing up an actual explanation forces more words out, "I just thought it might be better for my health, and the weekends aren't as busy as weekdays until the summertime."

"That's fine," drops so quickly, and Wonwoo second-guesses about his ears picking up what he thinks they heard. "I'm not going to stop you if you think it'll be good for your health."

"Don't I need permission from the owner?"

"I know she'll say yes."

 

 

His office walls accompany him as he sets up an announcement to post up everywhere next month, that he won't be open on Saturdays anymore. He thinks it will give him time to finish the appointments this month and for future clients to see where they fit in with his new schedule. Before he leaves his office, he tacks up the card of Sydney Opera House under a picture of Mingyu and Seoyeon on a tour bus, hair whipping past Central Park above her shoulders. He thanks Mingyu for the idea and with the hours landing on opposite sides of the clock, he knows Mingyu will read it eventually.

\----

"My parents are suspecting something," Mingyu starts the call with a stare into the wall in front of him.

Wonwoo remembers the way his mother would tell him how much happier he looks now and forcing the same words out of his brother before realizing what those words were, admits, "My family has been acting weird, too."

"What are we exactly?" is shy from Mingyu's lips. He can't will himself to look at the camera, eyes glued far off when Wonwoo plays a simple beat with his pen and his own desk.

"I guess we're together" won't free from his lips without a bashful smile, one that refuses to flatten out even when he tries to force it to. He's not sure what to label themselves, either.

"' _I guess?_ '" he balks, threads his fingers through his hair and tugs on the strands. "Wonwoo, you're calling Seoyeon like she's your own daughter."

"Okay, so we are," he surrenders the two words out of their picture. His memory retraces its steps to the first time this happened, but the path leads to a dead end of exactly what moment and all he knows is that it happened earlier than he first thought. "Now that I think about it, it's been like that for a while." He mention the cashier at the card store and the, albeit, shy syllables around using the word "significant other" for the first time when asked who the card was for. It strikes something in Mingyu and the match burns brighter at his eyes when his lips ghost the words out himself.

He'd hate to douse the fire at Mingyu's eyes, but he can't help but succumb to the fear that his parents won't look at him the same way they look at Bohyuk, who can give them a grandchild with their own blood, if he wanted to. But his mouth must have been working before his brain because an apology smudges into his ears, and he regrets how offensive, insensitive that was.

"No, it's okay," Mingyu's voice grows faint. "I won't blame you for thinking about that."

"I'm scared my parents won't see me as their son anymore," he mumbles, curls up into the chair and embraces his knees to his chest. "I mean, they told me they wanted me to get married, have a grandchild." Wonwoo tries to find the logic in it, how his parents' eyes shed into a different view of him when they say Mingyu seems to make him really happy. "How should I say it without hurting them?"

\----

But drawing it out ricochets his fingertips on his legs much more than the keys on his laptop, on his phone, over patient wood of his desk. When his mother answers, after their routine of how he is, how she is, if he ate, if she ate, did he sleep better, did she take the elevator or the stairs today, he tells her that he wants to tell her something.

"What is it?" is hopeful, and he's afraid of crushing that hope with the truth.

He hears his brother in the back and his ears burn even more embarrassed, wants to end this call and pretend his mother never picked it up, when Bohyuk starts teasing about the blush weaving its way to his cheeks. But he picks up an "Ow, I'll stop, I'll stop, Mom" out of the camera's periphery and he catches his mother's pinching fingers. Bohyuk comes into the screen, rubbing a palm at his cheek.

But his eyes fall short from their window on his computer. Cutting his words as short as possible might lessen the damage when his throat twists and the words are lost inside. He clears out the choke in his throat, plants his palms at his knees and inhales until his lungs scream to free the air back out. "So, Mingyu and I, we're-we're kind of together now."

The way his mother's eyes widen tell something different than the tears in them. Her first question startles him. "Would that mean Seoyeon is like your daughter now?"

Bohyuk lifts his hands to her shoulders, leans closer to the camera. "Finally."

His father grumbles about the noise, of "What did I wake up to?" When his mother relays it back, after her reassurance that it's perfectly fine that she can tell him and his father thumbing the tears off her eyes, his father plants a hand on his mother's shoulder, brings his face besides his brother's.

And Wonwoo doesn't know which one his heart rests easy more into--his father's first words of the news, of "We're really happy for you and Mingyu," or his mother's--but all the truth he protects close to himself is that nothing can slap the smile off their faces.

But his father's accusing dagger at his eyes does. His "Why didn't you tell us before Mingyu and Seoyeon came here?" doesn't hurt him at all.

His face searches for his hands with no trouble, confesses he wasn't ready for it, and he needed time to talk about it to Mingyu. His father frees a comforting chuckle, assures him that it's nothing to be sorry about and that they really are happy for Wonwoo, for Mingyu, and for Seoyeon.

"I told your dad once that I wanted a grandchild like Seoyeon," his mother spills, dabbing the corner of her eye with a tissue. "I never thought it would actually be Seoyeon."

And they stay on the line, Wonwoo staying at home to work out with a client's schedule instead of facing congested traffic head-on, as his parents prepare breakfast and Bohyuk lugs in a hefty bag of rice his muscles excused yesterday for the next day. His heart doesn't ache for hiding it from them for this long, now that there are really no terms they had to debate about in the first place, no doubts agitating the sleep from his eyes or the crush of his stomach. He likes this company, too, and he wishes he did this more often. He calms his regrets for never doing it before, and he promises himself to simply start doing it more from now on.

 

 

When Bohyuk has to start fixing last night's hours from his eyes before work, with doubts that their parents can work their ways around the computer, they all bid each other goodbyes,  _I love you_ ,  _I miss you_ , and  _Eat more, Wonwoo. Remember what I said about the buffets_.

Hours after hanging up on his parents and judgement bouncing from scheduling a client at the end of his hours, with her request of stretching his business hours, Mingyu's name lights up on his screen, but he answers to his voice without his face.

"Your mom called me. She told me what happened and, I don't know, Wonwoo, but I'm so glad you could tell them," spills to fast from his lips, brings his words to a halt to breathe in deeply, and it pulls a few tears from Wonwoo. "Is it alright if I tell my parents, too?"

"Of course," Wonwoo barely whispers out. But the voices at the other end, something about the angle of the arches and material of staircase railings stop their call from treading any further. "Are you at work?"

"I am, yeah" is jaded, as if this call isn't a bother to any progress from his projects. If anything, he pictures the smile on Mingyu's face, plugging a finger at his other ear to hear Wonwoo's own smile.

"Go before you get in trouble," Wonwoo chides with last waves of a laugh.

"I will, don't worry. Remember to eat lunch, okay?"

"Remember not to answer my call if you're busy at work," frees from Wonwoo's lips, all light and nothing heavy for his heart.

\----

Wonwoo speculates about the season that has clients bringing something for him. It's his first appointment with this client and the small bouquet of flowers in her hand and her certain palms cupping over the backs of his uncertain palms to accept it has him guessing otherwise. A few bundles of deep maroon in the midst of periwinkle and sprouts of white, Wonwoo thanks Amelia for a pretty piece of the season. Long after they shake hands and he displays the flowers at his desk in a mug, he realizes the beginnings of his appointments are the ones he looks forward to.

The sun sacrifices bits of herself for each client across his desk whenever he asks "So when did you meet him?" or "How long have you been with her?" or "Do you remember the moment when you realized you're in love with them?"

And it's no different when she winds back time to twenty-two  _years_  ago, when she still hopped at her toes to reach the monkey bars and volunteered her recess time to help her fourth-grade teacher file away worksheets. "Vincent's parents own a flower shop that I passed by whenever my dad and I ate ice cream in the weekends. Sometimes, my dad went inside to buy my mom a flower or two, like the ones we didn't have in our garden.

"That's where I met him, but we didn't talk at first. I remember the first time I saw him, he was holding a watering can for his mom while she fixed flowers." She huffs in disgust, relieves some of her frustrations by dragging her hands over short strands. "Some customers are so rude and careless but anyway, his mom and my dad thought it was a brilliant idea to introduce us to each other. After that, I would follow Vincent around the shop and I annoyed him with every question about flowers I could think of.

"He was patient, though, and I was surprised. I asked him which flower blooms first and he said there's really no first, but there are flowers that bloom in different seasons. I asked him which flowers bloomed in the winter or autumn, but he shrugged and I think it's because he didn't know.

"Then this elderly couple walked in and the old man called the old woman, I guess his wife, a daffodil. Thinking back on it, it was so cute to see the lady smile. It was like the light in her heart lightened her smile up even more, you know? Old couples are cute.

"That's when he suggested calling me by the first flower that bloomed each day I came into the shop, and I agreed to it because I can keep track of which flowers bloom in each season, I guess. Even twenty-two years later, he still keeps that tradition up. Today happened to be daffodils, so they hold a special place in my heart now."

 

 

He brings the flowers home with him in the same mug. He sets it at his desk and occasional glances at it sparks something in him.

He opens up his laptop, heels of his palms encasing the mousepad but fingers curling back into his palms. He risks in an unsteady breath as he types in the local flower shop near his home in Changwon. Parents' Day isn't so far away and it's been a long while since he properly did anything for his parents on this occasion.

It's not because he hates his parents; his reason stands at the opposite end of the spectrum. He loves his parents so much that he's supposed to  _not_  celebrate it, that because his mother doesn't want to be reminded of all the years his family celebrated the special day with under a full roof, no one missing at the dinner table in the end of the day or no empty spot at the blanket when his father flattened it out over the grass in the park. He doesn't want his mother to be reminded of all the days he can't celebrate with them now. It was always a secured day to spend with his parents and Bohyuk but the second Wonwoo signed the rest of his life off to New York, his father asked one thing, second to keeping his health up, and it was to not do anything special for Parents' Day.

"I know it's a weird thing to ask," his father confessed, frown skirting his eyes away from the camera. "I think it'll just make your mom miss you too much."

But this time, he clicks through the arrays of flowers from the floral shop, types in  _carnations_  at the search bar because that's what his mother loves and never yelped at when his grandmother rolled carnation seeds into her hand to grow her own. The back of his mind yearns for all the years he and Bohyuk wandered into the shop, picked the prettiest flower for his mother, depending on whose turn it was to decide on the flower and split a fraction of his allowance. Another part of the allowance went for his father, tiptoe-struggles to examine each succulent so that his mother's flower won't be lonely.

He adds a bouquet of pinks for his mother, reds for his father in vases into his cart. It's been years, tipped longer than a decade, since he last did anything for Parents' Day, and he just hopes that his mother won't find it too bad.

Once Wonwoo finishes off his plans, Bohyuk only elicits a wary, "Are you sure about doing this?" 

\----

His fingers falter on their way to turn on his laptop when Bohyuk confirms hiding the bouquets from their parents and in his room.

_16:52_  
**_Bohyuk_  **  
_You're doing so much this year_  
_I can't believe you're doing this_  
_I feel bad for not doing anything_

_16:55_  
**_Wonwoo_  **  
_It's okay_  
_You're already doing so much by helping me_  
_It's my turn to pay for the flowers_

 

 

He calls his mother and when she picks up, she asks him what the occasion is for calling. He breathes once, twice, before barely forming out a "Happy Parents' Day, Mom" that chokes him up, flares a tingle at his nose and a blur at his periphery.

It's parted lips at his words, an unsteady "Thank you, Wonwoo." And they're back to quiet again when Wonwoo pricks the tears at his eyes. "I really miss you."

Wonwoo thinks of every other Parents' Days he spent in Changwon with his family and how much his parents loved it, no matter how old he and Bohyuk grew. He hates himself a slight for brewing his mother's tears, especially on this day, but if he swears to himself that he wants to try calling more, he might as well try it on this day.

"I miss you, too, Mom." Wonwoo reaches over to pluck a tissue and placate the stream from his eyes, and he doesn't think through the next part, "One day, I'll bring you to New York so you can see what it's like here. You and Dad can sleep on my bed, and Bohyuk and I will sleep in the living room." Wonwoo coughs up the tears that refuse to stop beading at his eyes. "There's a big garden in the next city over, I think, with lots of cherry blossoms, so it'll be like you never left Changwon." But he chuckles bitterly because nothing can ever replace Changwon.

"I'd love to," his mother laughs, despite the tears. "One day, Wonwoo."

He wonders where his father would be at the moment but when he's close on asking, he hears the booming voice of "Who hurt your mother?" pointed at Bohyuk. Bohyuk never kills the habit of lifting his hands up in surrender at their father.

His father's voice is nothing as scary as what other people would think. His father's heart softens for his mother much faster than his voice, especially for her tears, but he means no genuine harm whenever he asks that question. It's something he picked up when he was young, how protective his father becomes when his mother cries.

Bohyuk's laugh rings into his years, and it dies out to a smirk when he says, "Wonwoo is on the phone."

He disappears from view as the phone passes onto his father's hands and even though he and his father don't share many words at once, except for that one night, the smile on Wonwoo's face, the same unseen on his father's from bringing the phone close to his eyes, says it all. He greets his father, asks about his morning walk this time.

His father's voice zips up when he spots the flowers at the kitchen counter. His eyes beam into the moon when he smiles, trades the phone off his responsibility, and he walks over to the counter, runs a thumb over the petal. He turns back to Wonwoo from afar, asks if he got these flowers.

Wonwoo says yes and his father runs a thumb over the paper tags stringing from each vase, to Wonwoo's handwritten messages of  _Happy Parents' Day, Dad!_  and  _Happy Parents' Day, Mom!_  printed across the sea. His mother comes over to the counter, leans her head on his father's shoulder, and they mention how it's carnations this year.

"That was the last flower you and Bohyuk bought before you went," his mother's words sift through the sniffs, swipes of tissue from cardboard.

Not long after, Bohyuk is the last to bid Wonwoo goodbye, that they have to leave because their uncle is waiting for them at the park because he and Dad had plans on the morning walk, but "Dad ditched him for an earlier walk." After a last greeting over Bohyuk's shoulder, he sighs, "Thank you for calling today."

 

 

He trails down the stairs to the mailboxes on the first floor, expecting bills and the lease payment for his office, but he flips a white envelope in his hand, at the questionable letters in English that clarifies once he reads Seoyeon's name and address at the top corner in Korean, developing into straighter lines and characters in relatively the same size. He takes his letters up back to his floor, doesn't even step out of the elevator to lift a corner of the flap and grit his teeth against ripping a crinkle at the seam.

A green rectangle engulfs most of the front, dotted with darker green triangles. In the middle, a blue circle is stark against the fields, and he smiles at her bird's-eye view of Central Park. Higher from the trees and above gray clouds, an airplane--that's really just an oval with triangles on either sides; Wonwoo can't help but smile at that--hovers above. An arrow points at the airplane, at Seoyeon's name at the tail of the swirling line.

He opens up the card and he can't pin a finger down for his fear of reading the message. But he relaxes, leans a shoulder on the floor as his heart soothes down at her penmanship steadying into near-parallel lines without actual lines guiding her words.

_I get to call you my dad now so Happy Parents' Day! I love you Daddy! I want to see you again because I miss you._

 

 

When he receives a video call from Mingyu, Mingyu must have aged a few years, maybe even a couple of decades, because his black hair stems off gray above Seoyeon on his lap. His eyes fall on the woman beside him, and Wonwoo's hand slaps over his mouth, gapes at his first time seeing Mingyu's parents after all these years. Living in the countryside, much farther away from everyone else for regular visits, meant seeing Mingyu's parents in Mingyu's home as more rare than he first perceived. He drops his hand to properly greet them the holiday, and Seoyeon's first words to him this entire call is his name, "Daddy, happy Parent's Day" all over his speakers.

After a second routine chain of questions, of eating well, sleeping better, they don't ask much about his celebrations for the holiday, knowing well enough what it means to his mother. But he dismisses the disquiet of hurting something in his mother if they call her today when he talks about sending carnations into their homes and having Bohyuk pick them up.

Mingyu's mother smiles the world at that, brings up an idea of calling his parents to say hi. "Or maybe she's crying because she has such a nice son."

Mingyu finally pops into the screen, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel that hints of a meal he's been cooking this whole time. He calls out to Wonwoo, reveals that they'll be heading for Anyang to celebrate the day with Minseo and her kids.

In the end of it all, Mingyu's mother pretends to whisper, "I hope Mingyu isn't giving you a lot of trouble."

His father ties his own promise of "If he does give you trouble, you can tell me and I'll warn Mingyu."

At her grandfather's lap, Seoyeon stares skeptical between her grandparents, asks a "What happens if Daddy does give Daddy trouble?" Her face blanks out, blinks a few times into the void, and mumbles a, "That was confusing."

It earns a stream of laughs and even Mingyu in the kitchen doubles over at Seoyeon's eyes scattering for answers at the ceiling. The fresh light of the situation, how new this type of confusion is for everyone, sheds a smile on Wonwoo.

Seoyeon hops off her grandfather's lap to turn to her grandmother, bury into her arms and sink her face into her shoulder. She pats her back, suggests "Maybe you can call him 'Dad,' since 'Daddy' is already taken."

\----

His heart tries to wring out the disappointment when Wonwoo asks if Seoyeon watched the new Disney film in the movie theater and if she did, he asks if she loved it enough to hug a new blanket of the characters there, instead of her usual blue blankets. Mingyu sighs at the likelihood that Seoyeon might be growing out of her Disney princesses phase ever since she picked up a book about stars and galaxies, the Milky Way protecting the planets and moons, Opportunity's last message of "My battery is low and it's getting dark" striking something sullen in her.

He knows Seoyeon won't think of Disney princesses her entire life, but she's loved them since he met her and he can't erase that connection with her just yet. But he sighs with Mingyu, says it's alright. Maybe he'll buy her some books about space, the ones with fold-out pages that reveal deeper, unsolved mechanisms of the universe, blind to the human eye from the Earth's distance. They allow the thought to seethe a little bothered into their minds, trade glances of the soundless  _I wish Seoyeon didn't grow up so fast._

\----

Once May twenty-seventh almost closes the day for Seoyeon, they resort to their voices because her day is followed by school in the next morning. He listens to her "Thank you, Daddy" through the speakers, though he already told her that she thanked him more times than he can string the words around the equator. He listens to her stammer around the name of stars and moons, connecting stars into constellations and planets with their moons in English. He listens to the scrape of her fingertip when she links Orion and the scratch of her fingernail as she hesitates Ganymede fresh out of her system and into her mind.

Eventually, the night ceases to the muffle of pillows when she goes on about celebrating her birthday on Saturday. "Auntie Minseo is coming here with Yeeun and Yejoon, and Uncle Seokmin and Uncle Wonwoo are bringing their bikes."

"Junhui and Minghao asked if she wanted ice cream cake," Mingyu supplies onto the plans of her birthday in the distance. "Minghao said it can be any flavor."

"What flavor do you want it to be, Seoyeon?"

"All the flavors," whispers through a yawn, voice lowering in pitch with sleep steeping into her voice.

Wonwoo sits up on his bed when the sun blinds his side of the sheets. "Are you feeling sleepy?"

"No, I want to stay up with you," she protests through another yawn. "It's my birthday wish."

Mingyu's voice steeps in that same sleep, a brush of his yawn into Wonwoo's ears. "You have to sleep, even on your birthday."

Seoyeon merely whines about wanting to see how long she can stay up before falling asleep, proposing that it's another birthday wish of her's. The wish simmers out in minutes when Mingyu mentions heading to the kitchen and talking there so she can sleep in quiet as they talk.

Wonwoo asks about his plans tomorrow, but the answer begins with a groan. "I have to redo floor plans tomorrow because the client decided  _after_  we finished the floor plans that they wanted the house smaller? Actually, I don't know what the client wants anymore. I think I'll just send the contractor there and pretend I had nothing to do with this project."

"Aren't you leading this project?"

"Sometimes, I pretend I'm not."

Wonwoo chuckles at the mutual irritation of clients, of how, in the end, their occupations sometimes offer some of the worst. "But I have to go to another project's site to see if it's going okay and the building hasn't collapsed yet. And, oh, no-"

"What?"

"Seoyeon's last week of school is next week." Wonwoo wonders what it's supposed to mean; shouldn't it be a good thing to not have to worry about picking her up and dropping her off? "No, well, I guess it worries me more and less. I have to figure out where she'll be while I'm at work, since daycare isn't an option anymore and her after school program is open only when school is in session."

Wonwoo wishes he can bear some of the weight for Mingyu, watch over her and take her somewhere, spend much more time with her so Mingyu wouldn't have to worry even a pinch. But there's nothing they can do when it's the time of the year when more people knock into Wonwoo's office and there's still an ocean to cross.

They allow summer's chaos to settle in the peace while it can, soaking in troubles from each of the shores. It doesn't last long when a click of teeth into nail sparks Wonwoo's ears awake, and Mingyu says he should start going. "Tomorrow's going to be crazy."

But they don't forget to bid each other good morning and goodnight, Wonwoo's "Sweet dreams" mixed in with Mingyu's "Enjoy the day," their "I miss you" that bleeds the syllables raw into "I love you."

\----

An awful ball chucks itself straight to Wonwoo's stomach when he wakes up on Saturday. He skates his fingers across his phone to kill the alarm, stirs himself a mug of coffee and never bothers to wipe the steam tendrils welcoming his glasses with fog, scrubs the sleep from his skin clean in the shower. His belt loops halfway around his waist when he catches the calendar at his bedside, at the reminder that he has Saturdays off now.

He sighs--in relief, in worry, he's not sure himself--but he finishes dressing himself with an itch of reaching for his planner and dialing up clients' numbers, confirming an appointment or a few, leafing through an invitation or into the pile still building up in his shipping box. He scans around his apartment, wondering what he should do on this day off. He skims through the fridge, picks up a pad of sticky notes to start a list of what he should restock in his fridge. With so much time in his hands, he still has no plan of how to use it all up, especially when he would be at his desk and penning down vows at this time of the day, on this day.

In between finishing off the last item and grabbing his keys, he picks up the pink Polaroid camera Soonyoung and Seokmin bought for him, collecting dust at his nightstand before today because he was never sure what to capture in one try. With the pricey box of films at his drawer, he should use it sometime.

So before he leaves for the supermarket, he aims the camera at the sky opening the doors for clouds and watches the futile flash against morning sun. He watches the film inch its way out of the camera and once it blazes in white at his palm, he waves it around, outlines the blends of white and gray separating into sharp corners of skyscrapers. And before he heads home from the supermarket, grocery bags hanging from his elbow with less packs of instant coffee and more boxes of tea, he drops by the mall, stands in line with a box in his hands, a bulky camera nestling at his fingers and waiting for its first ever picture. He wants to  _try_  taking pictures that aren't with his phone, without any messages interrupting the shot. This way, he can fulfill his promise from Soonyoung and Seokmin, from his father and, deep down, to himself.

 

 

That night, he props the camera at his window to record frames of the night sky from his balcony. If he ever recorded a video about his life in New York, he thinks it'll be a great part to add, but he has a long way to go before dipping his fingertips in that type of project.

\----

Sunday after, he sprawls his arms out on his bed. It's his usual day off, but his body still tugs itself for the planner, a glance at his email, an earful through voicemails. So he calls Mingyu to disturb the silence and the tug at his hand, the loneliness in his apartment echoing into his ears. When Mingyu answers, he yawns and Wonwoo apologizes for calling so late, for not considering about the time difference, and he'll call another time.

Mingyu shakes his head, yawns again, and he hears the shuffling of blankets, clicks of the door. Light breaks through even more when he plops down at the desk and props Wonwoo up.

"How are you? It's your day off, right?" Mingyu musters up the most of a smile he can get with all his energy still lost in his dreams.

"It is, but it feels weird taking a second day off."

Mingyu grins, maybe from what he said to the sleepiness finally taking him under. "It just means you've been working too hard." Wonwoo reminds himself of the times he told his parents not to work too hard and before his thoughts can drag this call down, Mingyu stops him. "It'll be okay. You deserve more rest, you know."

The call falls mute not long after, with Mingyu's languid blinks and Wonwoo tracing everything on his pixel face--from the mole Chloe's sneaky eyes noticed, slight lines digging their ways under his eyes, and his hair tumbling one way. Not breaking off his eyes, knowing that he's all Mingyu is looking at, sends Wonwoo wanting to hide the blush and opening his mouth to say something. It's worse when Mingyu lazily chuckles, rumbles of fragment-laughs from the back of his throat, and buries his face in his crossed arms over the table.

"You should get some sleep," Wonwoo says. "Sorry for waking you up."

"It's okay," Mingyu smiles, pinching one eye shut. "Seoyeon didn't wake up, so it's all good."

He nods, smiles to his lap. "I love you," as if they're Wonwoo's last words.

Mingyu closes his eyes but the smile stays awake. "I love you, too, Wonwoo."

\----

His first day back from his first two days off throws a concerned Robert at him, swinging an arm around his shoulders and Wonwoo slipping his around his waist. "I missed you on Saturday." When Wonwoo explains that he changed his hours to slip in one more day off, Robert agrees that it's a good change. "You shouldn't work too hard, since you work everyday."

"I work everyday you're  _here_ ," Wonwoo corrects him, but it just throws a laugh over their shoulders when someone summons Robert up the stairs and towards the suits.

 

 

He doesn't think much about it when Mingyu messages him and apologizes for the rest of his next weeks, for not being able to call as often as they wish. Something-somethings about being busy with work, extensive planning on where Seoyeon will be while he's at work, now that her school is closed for summer vacation. He mentions not wanting Wonwoo to stay up too late or wake up too early just for a few minutes, that his sleep and health are much more important at his busiest time of the year, that they can always rely on messages, quick calls throughout their days that don't disturb their slumbers.

He sighs at the message, but he understands the demand for Mingyu's job, for his life, and he simply hopes Mingyu is doing okay and that he knows he's never far from a phone call away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much again for reading! this fic is a year old already?? i thought i'd be done with it by then, but i guess not. and to readers apologizing for not being good at words, your words are amazing and don't you worry about it at all! i love you all and your pretty words!!  
> so there's three more chapters until an actual end, which i've been told it seems too soon? i actually have a few epilogue chapters i've been planning since the start of this fic, so whatever happens three chapters later won't be the last of this fic hehe  
> also !! amelia's story is inspired by the song ["she likes spring, i prefer winter" by slchld](https://soundcloud.com/seoulchild/she-likes-spring-i-prefer-winter)  
> i'm always at [ tumblr](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com/), [twitter,](https://twitter.com/leescokmin) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity) if you'd love to scream at me

**Author's Note:**

> i'm doing something different with this fic; i have this thing where i have to finish writing the entire fic before posting it (even if the fic is in multiple chapters). this time, i'll be posting as i write. in other words, there isn't much editing and planning compared to my other works.  
> title from the song [Love Stuck by Mother Mother](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFSsyFum8mI)  
> on another note, i hope that the way the chat is formatted is alright?? keeping everything just italicized left me lost sometimes, so bolding the names seem to make it less confusing?  
> anyway, thank you for reading! i'll be over here on [tumblr](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com), [twitter](https://twitter.com/leescokmin), and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity) if you want to scream at me over there :D


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